


The End of Missing

by eadunne2



Category: Captain America (Movies) RPF
Genre: AU, Actor!Chris, Anal Sex, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, BDSM, Bondage, Casual drinking, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Falling In Love, Fluff, Friendship/Love, Good Friends, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Kissing, M/M, Mackie is the best, Muscles, Mutual Pining, Oral Sex, Pining, Porn, Porn With Plot, Rope Bondage, Safe Sane and Consensual, Sassy Sebastian, Stuntman!Seb, brief hint at unsuccessful noncon, potentially unhealthy coping mechanisms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-28
Updated: 2016-06-28
Packaged: 2018-07-18 18:07:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 34,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7325242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eadunne2/pseuds/eadunne2
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sebastian remembers this from before, Chris’s physicality, remembers shoving and tripping one another, and hugs that lingered. It had been silly, friendly, until some vague, unspoken moment towards the end of filming when their relationship had changed again - Chris circling Sebastian’s wrist with his hand, or a palm to his lower back, only on rough days, only when Chris noticed him tensing up against unpleasantness in his own mind. At first Seb wanted to apologize, brokenness is a tiresome trait, but the actions seem to calm Chris too, ease his busy brain. When they lost touch Seb pretended not to miss it; he wouldn’t have had a chance to anyway, right? - with two dozen excellent fuck buddies all over the globe. Weird how they all had blue eyes though.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> It's done. Just gonna edit and post. 
> 
> No disrespect to the humans in the story. Brief noncon in first chapter but the dude gets kicked in the balls, and it's short, so there's that.
> 
>  
> 
> I know I've been doing a lot of Evanstan, but I'm working on a Stucky, so if this isn't your jam, there should be some new stuff soon-ish. If this is your jam, though, let me know so I can continue feeding the fire.
> 
> Thanks for all the love and support. You guys are the actual best.
> 
> Oh, also. I don't know fuckall about how movies are made. Just...pretend, ok?

“Cabinet, door frame, basket.” 

“Yeah fucking right,” Seb snorts.

Chris frowns at the shot, crumpling the paper ball even smaller in his fist, and deftly flicks it towards the cabinet in his trailer. It ricochets, bounces off the door frame, and drops into the trashcan.

“Ok, fine,” Seb grins. “Window, fridge, basket.”

“I’m not worried,” Evans drawls.

“Think I can’t make it?”

“Oh, I don’t think. I know.”

By way of a reply, Seb chucks it without even looking at him. Window. Fridge. Trashcan. “Bite me.”

Chris beams, color creeping high on his cheeks. “Gladly.”

“Ass.”

“Dick.”

“Fucker.”

“Cocksucker.”

Seb winks. “I won’t argue that one.”

Chris throws back his head and shouts with laughter, grasping his chest and sliding sideways on the couch to bump into Seb. The point of contact sends a spark dancing through his stomach - wanting and belonging, too much and more than enough simultaneously. He smiles down to where Chris’s head is touching his shoulder, sparkling eyes blinking up at him as the silence settles, warm and fond. Hesitation flits across Chris’s face, but the he tilts his chin up, whispers, “Seb…”

“Evans! They need you for the reshoot!” 

Both men jump about a foot and in opposite directions.

“Coming!” Chris shouts, then hops up, springing on the balls of his feet with that boundless energy. “Good game, man. I’ll, uh, see you around ok?”

“Ok. Ok.” Seb has to say it twice because the first time is just air. 

Chris says the same thing a few days later when Seb drops him off at the airport. “See you around, ok?”

Seb smiles hard enough to break something.

\--

The businessman in the seat next to him is wearing a suit, which seems unfathomable since the flight from Sydney to New York is literally a fucking day long, and Seb is crawling out of his own skin dressed in loose jeans and a sweater. 

From the window seat floats, “You ok, bro?” 

Seb sighs. “Yes. Yeah. Yup.”

“Convincing,” business dude returns dryly, but doesn’t push it, returning instead to the paper he’s been reading for the past hour. Wriggling lower in his seat, Seb tries to will realistic accommodations for his inconveniently long legs into existence, but to no avail; the space remains cramped and his left knee protrudes insistently into the walkway. His hamstrings tense painfully, a relic from yesterday’s hours-long shoot on a motorcycle, and he winces. Only...fifteen hours to go.

There are advantages to being stuntman. Good pay, fun as hell, and best of all, low visibility. Just show up, gear up, and don’t fuck up, and that’s good enough for him.

There are disadvantages too, though. He’s all over the world, which is spectacular, but the flights and hotels can get old after awhile. Sometimes the crews are shitty, for any number of reasons, and that sucks, too, but mostly it’s just the loneliness that gets him, and even then, only every once in awhile.

He’s used to it.

His notebook is wedged in the little mesh bag on the back of the seat in front of him, paperwork for the film tucked neatly inside, and though he’s been adamantly trying to ignore anything work related for a few days, he extracts the materials out of sheer boredom.

The conversation with his agent had been less than five minutes. Seb heard spies, jumps, and “some Brokeback shit”, then nothing but white noise in his ears - the sound of unmitigated glee.

“I want it.”

“It’s a rough gig, Seb. Big commitment. There’ll be training in pre-pro and then you’re looking at long days on set. You sure -”

“Fuck. Yes. Hank.”

“Alright, man. I’ll call ‘em.” And that was that. 

Seb had finally gotten around to printing out the PDF Hank emailed him in the hotel lobby the night before, and thumbs through it absently now.

Doubling for AJ Young: hip, heartthrob, party boy. Apartment provided. Standard pay. Hank will have already taken care of the insurance and liability shit. Benefits of being established in his field. Pre-production training in a gym nearby - workouts, fight choreo. 

He shifts in his seat again, eagerly this time. It’s been almost a year since his last long term gig. It’ll be nice to stay in one place for a minute, and New York means he might actually be able to see his parents at some point. Just as the thought flicks through his brain, his ma demonstrates her eerie mother powers with a text lighting up his phone. “Safe flight, love mamă”.

After a quick text promising to call when he lands, he flips the page of the cast list. It doesn’t really matter, other than being aware any dicks he’ll have to watch out for. Some people get so famous they forget themselves, and Seb learned long ago that being pretty is not always an advantage, but as he scans the page it seems fine. He doesn’t know anyone real well, but there aren’t any heavy hitters. Smooth sailing. Except -

Heart thundering with nerves and hope, he gasps so loudly business dude looks up from his paper again. 

“Sorry. Sorry,” Seb mumbles apologetically, tucking the pages into the notebook and leaning back so hard the seat bounces a little, slamming his eyes shut. It’s ineffective though, and he knew it would be. He doesn’t sleep for the rest of the flight.

\-- 

~ One year earlier~

Seb’s pressed against the wall so hard the trim is digging into his shoulder blades, but it’s not far enough. 

“What a pretty boy you are,” Quinlan breathes, sticky on his neck. 

“Stop,” Seb whispers, then clears his throat to repeat it. “Stop. Now.”

“You were nobody until I came along. You owe me.”

“I earned those jobs,” Seb spits, but his voice quivers and they both hear it. 

Quinlan’s laugh hurts more than the hand digging into Seb’s stomach where it’s fumbling with his belt buckle. “You’re pretty, alright. Sure that helped. Some people,” he sneers, finally getting the button undone. “Just get lucky.”

Seb is frozen. Shit like this happens from time to time, but it’s never gotten this far, and for an instant he considers that his manager might be right. Quinlan got him half a dozen jobs before anyone knew who he was, before he had any credit to his name. 

But then there’s a voice in his head, calm and sure. A memory from a few days past. “Seb,” Chris had said. “You’re remarkable. Don’t let one bad day get you down.” “But what if I don’t-” “Stop.” He’d taken Seb’s chin in one hand to tilt his face up. “You. Are. Amazing. They’re so lucky to have you. I’m so lucky to ha- know you. Now stop.” And with that, the worry had evaporated, pushed away by kind words and even kinder eyes. Wanted.

So Seb grits his teeth and says, “You’re right.”

“I knew you’d see it my way. Just relax, Sebastian-” but Seb barrels on.

“Some people do get lucky. But not you,” and he jerks his knee up into Quinlan’s balls, shoving him away as he goes down, then hauls ass out of the room. Behind him, shouts echo. 

He doesn't look back. 

\--

~Present~

By the time the cab drops him off at the training facility he’s having something disturbingly close to a panic attack at the thought of running into Chris fucking Evans, whom he hasn't seen in almost a year.

The bullshit of the past several months isn’t water under the bridge, not by a long shot, but it becomes markedly less important the moment Seb sees him leaning against the wall outside the training facility, long and lean, legs crossed at the ankle. Chris notices him pulling his bags from the cab and something about the shift in his stance, his expression - warm and eager, like Seb is someone worth waiting for - settles the clusterfuck in his chest. 

“Sebastian!”

“Chris,” he says more warmly than he intends to because, to be honest, he’s still kind of pissed, but he leans into the hug, even risks a breath in Chris’s arms before extricating himself, leaning back to observe. The guy looks almost exactly the same. Thinner, maybe, and tired. Still beautiful.

Chris, for his part, gapes back affectionate and weirdly nervous until Seb quirks a questioning brow and Chris seems to collect himself. “Man, you’re so tan, where’ve you been?”

“Australia.” He tries to sound nonchalant. Not sure if it’s working. “For a commercial gig. They’ve got great surfing…”

“I bet.” His gaze is too much and Seb jerks away, shouldering his bag and heading for the entrance. Chris follows, asking “How are you?”

How is he? Lonely? Exhausted? Working ceaselessly? He fights down the urge to blurt out, “You’d know if you called,” and instead goes with, “Busy. Good. You?”

A muscle ticks at Chris’s jaw before he says, “Same.” But then he grins and throws an arm around Seb’s shoulders as they enter the building. “Damn it’s good to see you.”

Sebastian remembers this from before, Chris’s physicality, remembers shoving and tripping one another, and hugs that lingered. It had been silly, friendly, until some vague, unspoken moment towards the end of filming when their relationship had changed again - Chris circling Sebastian’s wrist with his hand, or a palm to his lower back, only on rough days, only when Chris noticed him tensing up against unpleasantness in his own mind. At first Seb wanted to apologize, brokenness is a tiresome trait, but the actions seem to calm Chris too, ease his busy brain. When they lost touch Seb pretended not to miss it; he wouldn’t have had a chance to anyway, right? - with two dozen excellent fuck buddies all over the globe. Weird how they all had blue eyes though.

“Facility is open to all of you twenty-four-seven,” Mackie is saying. “I’ll give guys keys before you leave. Chris, AJ, you’ll probably spend most of your time down that way in the gym and the track is upstairs. Sebastian and Jake, I’ll show you the training floor,” and leads them back through the lobby where Jake catches up to Sebastian.

“Hey man, I’m Jake, Chris’s double. Just wanted to say, I'm so excited to work with you.”

“You too,” Seb smiles.

“Even though we probably won’t be filming much together - ”

“How do you mean?”

“AJ’s taking it easy with that bad knee, and Chris is kinda famous for doing his own stunts these days, so it’ll probably be you two doing most of the choreo.”

Famous for doing his own stunts? “Really?” He hadn’t been a year ago. “I didn’t know that.” He wants to ask, dying of curiousity, but the group has stopped short in order to walk through another door and -

“Holy shit,” Seb whispers.

“Goddamn,” Jake adds. 

Mackie laughs. “Playground for grown ups. I’ll be doing most of your training in here.”

Seb shakes his head in awe. “Fuck… _incredibil_...” Towering ceilings, broad windows, and an open garage door making the whole place feel more alive and welcoming. It's like something out of American Ninja Warrior - rock wall, ropes, a foam pit with high-jump practice boards protruding over it. The giant springy floor is what’s calling Seb though, and he gleefully drops his shit at the door and sprints to it.

“Fuck yeah!” he hears Jake shout, but Seb’s too busy flipping through a few consecutive back handsprings, and Mackie’s laughing. 

“Dig it? You’re welcome here any time, though the manager asks you don’t come alone, in case you get hurt.”

Seb shakes out his hands and jumps a few times, testing the bounce. So satisfying. “What’s the situation with the rock wall?”

Mackie glances over. “Top rope, no lead though, sorry. You know how to climb?” 

Seb shrugs. “Enough. I’m certified to belay if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Badass, man,” he says as Chris and AJ join them. “I’m glad to be working with you. You’ve made quite a name for yourself.”

“I have?” Seb asks at the same time Jake blurts, “Yeah dude, you’re part of the reason I signed on.”

“Oh,” he says, voice softer. “I hadn’t…”

He’s always had to work hard to keep up. Learn the language. Assimilate. Pay attention in school. Validate his career choice, not to mention his sexuality. Besides, he likes keeping busy. Especially in the past year, when that dull ache in his chest had blossomed into ragged wound. 

He’d always been shy in school, into old movies and books of prose that flowed like water, cooling the ache of never-quite-enough-are-you? And then when he’d started working, people began talking to him with purpose. He had a role to play. It felt…better. Better than hiding but safer than being in the spotlight, and he just wanted to do his best.

“I hadn’t realized,” he finishes. 

“How could you not know -” Chris breathes and Seb startles up. Wide blue eyes filled with concern that Seb desperately wants but cannot allow himself to accept. 

“Whatever, you’re the one collecting best actor awards,” he jokes, remembering all too well flipping through a magazine with Chris’s face on the cover, an article praising his genuine personality and remarkable acting chops and whirlwind schedule. He’d been so fucking busy, with all that fucking work. Too busy to pick up the phone, Seb guesses. 

“Anyway…” Mackie drawls, glancing between the two of them, and AJ looks uncomfortable. “You guys are welcome to get a workout in if you want, but I know you’re probably jetlagged…”

Chris’s posture is hunched, hands-in-pockets-defensive, and he’s biting his lip like there’s something to say, but Seb can’t. Not now. Not yet. Not when the familiar smell of cologne and cotton is assaulting his brain cells and knees, begging them to collapse, to relax, for once.

“You know how to belay?” Seb asks Jake.

“Sure, man. You wanna climb?”

“Fuck yes. Thanks for the tour,” he mumbles to Mackie, then turns to Chris, really looking at him for the first time that day, not surprised to see perfect cool holding his facial muscles in place. 

Seb knows it’s a defense mechanism. Doesn’t make it hurt any less.

“See you around.”

\--

Sebastian tosses his suitcase and backpack on the small bed, flopping down next to it. Home sweet rental home. The apartment is small, but all his worldly possessions fit in the luggage next to him. He needs to get up and unpack or it’ll never get done but they climbed for a while and he hasn’t really eaten today and jet lag is setting in. Besides, warm fingers of sun are falling through the blinds and splashing across the bed, warming him like a blanket. Like a laugh. Like a strong shoulder pressed against his own.

\--

“Ma -”

She’s talking a mile a minute in Romanian. It makes him a little crazy, but homesick more than anything. 

“I just don’t think you’ve been eating enough. Those photos from the commercial - you look so thin.”

“It’s just the lighting, Ma.”

“You’ll come home when you have the time so I can feed you some real food.”

“I eat real food.”

“Cereal marketed for children does not count.”

“Cocoa Krispies are good for all ages.”

“Sebastian - “

“Ok, ok, I’ll go grocery shopping tonight.”

“Send me a picture of the vegetables.”

“Yes, Ma.” He knows there’s no use arguing, and she’s winding down anyway.

“You haven’t been taking care of yourself lately, after that damn boy -”

“It has nothing to do with him.” The lid of the to-go coffee cup in his hand makes a crunching noise as he takes a sip and squeezes too hard. 

“He broke your heart.”

“He did not. I’m fine.” The scalding coffee is making his throat tight, and because Seb’s life is a cosmic joke, Chris bounces up to the rec center, backpack slung over one shoulder, aviators perched high on his nose. “I gotta go to work, Ma.”

“Be careful.”

“Always.”

“I love you.”

“You too.”

“What’s wrong?” Chris asks immediately and Seb startles up.

“ _Nimic. De ce?_ ” The response comes automatically in Romanian and Chris blinks in confusion and bites his lip.“Shit, sorry, I said ‘it was nothing’.”

“Quit apologizing,” he chastises, holding the door for Seb who shrugs it off, taking the lead towards the locker room. “You speak a million languages. It’s bound to get confusing.”

“Not a million...maybe four, if you’re being generous.”

“How?” Then, “Why?” He sounds far more impressed than is appropriate. “I mean the Romanian makes sense, but…”

“Spanish and French from school and work, Italian from an old boyfriend, but the three are so close though it barely counts as knowing more than one…”

“Well, I think it’s impressive,” Chris murmurs a little more roughly than usual, then pauses in the hall, catching Seb’s arm. He looks exhausted. “Hey. About...before. I just wanted to -”

No, nope, absolutely not. Seb’s not sure he can survive the excuses about how Chris managed to miss every damn text and phone call. Seb had stopped trying after the first month, aside from the occasional drunken message. Whatever the apology, it’ll cut him to pieces before it helps anything at all. 

“It’s all good, Chris. We gotta get going. Don’t wanna be late.” He barrels into the locker room and changes clothes quickly. Time to drown himself in work.

Jake is great, AJ’s nice enough, Robert - who’s playing the villain - is a spectacular actor, but Sebastian has a sneaking suspicion their trainer Mackie is going to be his favorite. Aside from Chris. Obviously. Begrudgingly. 

As the days turn into a week, Mackie proves to be hilarious, larger than life, and incredibly good at his job. He’s already spent dozens of hours with the director asking questions and exploring sets, so his choreography is specific and more creative than much of what Seb has done before. Rarely does he get to do jumps and tumbling without wires because most companies are too scared of lawsuits, but “Don’t die,” was all Mackie had said, and both Seb and Jake cracked up. 

The work helps immensely with the noise in his head and the hole in his chest. They’re at the rec center by seven a.m. every morning for an hour on the track and another in the gym, then Mackie spends the rest of the morning and early afternoon beating the crap out of them. There’s no time to get lost in his mind, though sometimes Seb finds his hand creeping up to circle his throat without his permission, or twisting his wrists in the straps of his bag if he’s not paying attention. Only for a moment. He’s thought about finding a club, or checking online for someone, but he hasn’t indulged for so long, and it feels almost disingenuous to do so now. 

“Alright, let’s go front flip and land on your back, arms out, legs together.”

He plants his feet and stares down at the pit. Bends his knees. Sees the jump in his head. And then it’s just air. 

It’s a weird trust exercise, going against human nature to launch himself into nothingness and believe there will be a soft landing. No matter how many times he does it, there’s always a zing of nerves, but the release at the bottom is exquisite as he bounces into the foam.

“Nice!” Mackie shouts. “Again.”

Another, up the ladder, off the platform, then another. As Seb climbs up again he calls, “What’s up next?”

“Choreo.”

“You sent Jake home.” It’s an observation, not a question and Mackie doesn’t answer, just hollers, “One more. Top platform.” 

“Whatdya wanna see?”

There’s laughter in Mackie’s voice, but not mocking. Excited. “Open dive, one and a half front somersault in tuck, land feet down.” 

Seb chuckles too, eager to prove himself and excited to try a jump from the highest level. “You’re fucking nuts.”

“What’s that about your nuts?”

“Ha ha,” Seb mutters dryly, then lets the world ease out of his mind. His whole existence shrinks down into one action, one room, one body, and he trusts it, breathes until his knees are steady, and lets go.

Despite his insecurities, Seb has been a smart-ass since the day he was born, and now is no different, especially as worn out as he’s been. He needs to show off, needs the rush, and the opportunity is too good to pass up - a reverse dive into a pike before straightening, and grins as the ground comes up to meet him. 

“Somersault!” Mackie shouts, but he’s got time all the time in the world. Someone else hollers, panicked, “Goddamn it, Seb!” but it’s not Mackie and he has no time to worry about it. An instant before he faceplants into the foam he whips into the somersault and thrusts his feet out, plunging into the pit, perfectly vertical. “You motherfucker!” Mackie cackles, and he’s shaking his head at Seb as he comes crawling out. “That was incredible. You gave me a heart attack.” 

“Aren’t there insurance regulations against dangerous shit like that?” Chris asks from behind them, and Seb startles to see him here at all, much less looking so pale and angry. 

Mackie cuts in, “If there were, you’d know about it, Mr. Loophole.”

“Huh?” Seb grunts, padding to the side of the room to retrieve his water and avoid his...Chris, but it doesn’t work. Evans follows.

“Chris finds loopholes in his contracts in order to convince the producers to let him do more dangerous stunts. He’s become kind of famous for it lately.”

“Lately?”

“The past, what, year or so would you say, Evans?”

“Fuck off, Mackie,” he grumbles, throwing his crap down next to Seb’s, who murmurs, “You guys work together before?”

“Yeah, a few months ago. Good to see your ugly ass by the way,” Mackie calls and Chris gives him the finger, but he’s smiling now.

“I was promised an ass kicking. You gonna deliver?”

“Nah.” Chris glances up and something about Mackie’s tone makes Seb think there’s a second silent conversation going on, one he’s missing completely. “But Sebastian’s going to.”

It ends up being more of an even exchange than an ass kicking. As Mackie leads them through the steps in counts of eight, Seb notices the difference in Chris right away. He’s much lighter on his feet, and has that sixth sense of when and how to react, more logical and controlled. It’s sexy as fuck, but satisfying, too, to work with someone proficient in something Seb’s so passionate about.

“Right, left, uppercut. Good Chris!”

Seb jumps back, laughing, and wipes the sweat from his face with a forearm. Chris is grinning, fucking incandescent where he stands, panting in the afternoon light and Seb excuses himself to get a drink and recover from shortness of breath that has nothing to do with exercise when he realizes he’s forgotten something. “What’s the character motivation here?” he murmurs as he returns to the floor. “I should’ve asked before.”

Mackie glances to Chris. “You know the script better than I do…”

“They’re enemies. Sort of. Rivals. This is the showdown, the breaking point right before they decide to work together.”

“Work together...”

“They realize they have a common enemy. And then…” Chris stops, turning impossibly redder. “They uh...team up, start to develop…feelings...”

“Wow,” Seb says with a teasing smile to cover the way his heart is pounding. “That’s super fucking gay.”

Chris’s laugh sounds like it’s startled out of him. “Yeah. Kind of the point.”

“Awesome.” He means it.

“Yeah?” Chris looks relieved.

“Of course. Not enough quality queer media out there. My manager said something about ‘some Brokeback shit’ but I didn’t know he meant like this.”

“You didn’t like...read the synopsis or anything?” 

“Nah.”

“How’d you decide on the project?”

“Spies,” Seb says matter of factly, and Mackie joins in on the laughter this time. 

“Fair,” Chris concedes, then grins wickedly, steadying his stance and raising his fists. “Again.”

They go for another hour, conversing with their bodies until Mackie calls it a night. “Awesome work. I’m gonna peace out, but you guys are welcome to stay as long as you like.”

“Thanks man, this was great,” Chris says, clapping his hand to Mackie’s shoulder, but the trainer just winks. 

“Behave, boys.”

Seb blinks at him, confused, but then he’s gone, and the room is suddenly deafeningly silent. For the first time in months, he and Chris are alone. He tries to keep it casual. Calm. “Wanna run it one more time?”

“Sure,” Chris responds, and he sounds a little hoarse but Seb stares at the ground on his way back to the starting mark and doesn’t look back up until they’ve started the sequence. Chris’s face is impassive, almost suspiciously so, but there’s no time to consider the cause between tumbling and blocking oncoming blows. It’s too much, immediately. Seb finds his shoulders tightening as they push on, aggressing into each other’s space, and when Chris curls Seb into a headlock, Sebastian reacts reflexively and actually elbows him in the stomach, which stops the sequence immediately.

“Shit, sorry!”

“It’s fine,” Chris says lightly, but he’s gripping his side and sounds slightly winded.

“No, I - You sure?” 

“Yeah.” He’s smiling. “It’s all good. I’m sure I’ll slip at some point too. Like...now, for example,” and he shoves Sebastian a few feet.

“What the fuck?” 

Chris shrugs innocently. “Just returning the favor.”

“Yeah, sure, smartass,” Seb replies, and pushes him back, chest swelling with familiar affection.

“Just trying to be fair,” Chris says as he reaches out, maybe trying to grab Seb’s arm, maybe trying to tickle him, but Seb’s faster and he intercepts it, latching onto Chris’s wrist. 

“Nice try, asshole.” 

“Ooooh, quick reflexes. Wonder if they’ll help you now!” He gets a foot behind Seb’s ankle, which wouldn’t have been enough to bring him down but then Chris dives on him as he falls, pinning Seb to the floor. They’re both laughing hysterically as Seb tries to elbow Chris off, until quite suddenly he’s pinning Sebastian’s hands above his head.

Immediately, the air thickens around them and Chris’s smile slides from his face, replaced by something darker, more predatory but in the best way - controlling and worshipful and completely present as he whispers, “Seb.”

Sebastian, on the other hand, is suddenly weightless and fuzzy, easy in his skin for the first time in too long, and as he sighs, a little whimper escapes. It triggers something for Chris, a change in expression, and Sebastian could almost believe the fondness but then he remembers - Chris hadn’t wanted him before, and nothing is different now. Maybe Chris can keep playing this game, but Seb won’t survive it. Not again.

Like a shot, he rockets backwards out of Chris’s grasp, so quickly he gives himself rugburn from the mat, not that he feels it at the moment. “Seb,” Chris repeats, concerned, reaching for him, but Sebastian is already stumbling away, grabbing his bag and stumbling barefoot out the open garage door into the night.

\--

He knows about the club, of course. The name and general location. A quick text to an old Dom and a reference check from a friend, and he orders a cab.


	2. Chapter 2

He’d avoided it before, somehow convincing himself that it’d be like cheating on Chris, but he realizes now it was just for fear of shattering the illusion. Chris is such a natural Dom, with his need for control and boundless attention to the well-being of others, but kindness is not affection, and Seb needs something that Chris will never give him.

The cab drops him off at a diner nearby and Seb backtracks down the sidewalk about a block, head bowed, hands in pockets. The vet sign swings, creaky on its chain, over an unmarked door. Seb knocks three times and it opens on a small blonde woman with short cropped hair.

“Can I help you?” the woman murmurs.

“I’m on the list,” he says shortly and she eyes him up and down. A Dom, he can tell. 

“Name?”

“Stan.”

“Alec called you in,” she murmurs, stepping back so he can enter the dim hall. “You’re lucky. Friday nights are hectic.”

“Yes.”

“He speaks highly of you.”

Sebastian smiles tightly. “Thank you.”

“Will you be playing tonight?”

“Yes ma’am.”

She reads him the rules and he signs the confidentiality and consent forms numbly. He hadn’t meant for it to come to this, he prefers knowing his Doms, but he can feel it, a bad drop if he doesn’t take care of this soon. 

She hands him a sub wristband without even asking and offers him a small smile. “Follow me.”

He’s been to dozens of these kinds of clubs over the years, but even in his shitty mood he recognizes this one is better than most. It’s dim, they all are, but it’s less of a dungeon feel and more of a nightclub. The walls are midnight blue, and the bartender smiles at him as he passes from a mirror-backed bar trimmed in small, twinkling lights. There are a few scenes going on already, with a handful of observers, and some empty cubicles in the front ready for guests. Available Doms scatter the room but the thought of having to choose, of having to talk, is causing his throat to close up and his palms to sweat. He’s usually so good at this, but he’s worn too thin. The blonde notices.

“Hey. Feel free to say no but…” She pauses, watching him, making sure he’s present. “How about I tie you up, simple, and someone will come to you.” He hesitates, but like a pro, she reads his mind. “You’re beautiful, Sebastian.” She lets her eyes run the length of his body. “They’ll be fighting over you.”

He flushes at the compliment, even from someone he doesn’t know, and nods. “Yes, please.”

She smiles warmly and leads him to a cubicle across the room. There’s a cross of iron and she backs him against it, binding his ankles and wrists with deftness, testing the tension with a finger beneath the rope. “Ok?”

He nods. 

“I’m going to check on you in ten minutes. If you’re with someone, I’ll leave you to them. Ok?”

He dips his head and she runs her fingers through his hair. “Good boy. I’ll be back.”

She disappears into the crowd, and he relaxes against the restraints.

Fuck, it’s been too long. 

The air is cool on his skin, but not unpleasantly so. He’s not hard yet, still too tense for that, but he can breathe again. The bindings are tight, almost too much, but he needs that today, now, needs to feel held, cradled, cared for. It’s enough to let his mind drift. 

God, he misses Chris. Misses the way it was before, their easy affection. For months they’d seen each other every day, Seb waiting for Chris to get done on set, Chris showing up at Seb’s trailer with coffee or food or candy. Seb knows how much Chris loves his family, and the way his brain gets overwhelmed if he’s not careful. Chris knows Seb has a hard time feeling worthy, knows his kink is trust, safety, even if they’d never named it as such.

It's not fucking fair. An actual, healthy relationship for once in his fucking life and then wham - job over, assaulted by his (now ex) manager, and the best friend he's ever had vanished from the face of the planet, in the span of a week. It’s just not fucking fair. 

He thinks back to training today, back to laughing with Chris, to being pinned beneath him. Safe. Not real, not to keep, but for a moment…

It's not until he hears himself gasp that he realizes his face is wet, but hey, some people are into that. Besides, it's cathartic. He hasn't cried in years. Heaving in his restraints he pours himself out, lets go, loses time until a voice commands, “Stop.”

He knows that voice. It’s not real, it can’t possibly be, but he looks up anyway just to torture himself.

“Chris…” It’s a question, a sob, a breath, Sebastian must be hallucinating. Chris would never be in a place like this, standing here in front of Seb like a conjured dream. The command is real though, “Stop,” and he stares, breath shuddering in and out but the tears won’t stop. He’s trying. Failing already. “I c-can’t,” he gasps, but Chris lurches forward, pinning his hands back against the grate they’re tied to. “Not crying. Stop twisting your hands.”

Confused, Seb blinks to one side and is surprised to see a ring of raw pink flesh around his wrist beneath the rope. He’d been struggling without noticing. 

“I'm gonna untie you, but I need you to stay standing, alright Sebastian?”

He nods numbly and Chris smiles like the sun. “Good. Good boy.” Seb gasps at the way the words clear the hurt from his mind. Good. He's good. For Chris. 

The bindings come off his ankles first, then wrists, and Seb is focusing so diligently on keeping his legs from buckling that the hurt barely registers as rope falls away. Chris eases him into a chair and then kneels, massaging Sebastian’s hands between his own, working the blood back into them. “Jesus, Seb. Who did this?”

Seb shakes his head. “It wasn’t her fault. She was trying to help. I needed...I need…”

Fuck, he’s really coming undone. He can barely speak, just drowning in raw emotion, too much. If someone doesn’t do something, he’s gonna crawl out of his skin. “I need it. Please,” he pants, praying to a god he doesn’t believe in that Chris will understand. 

There’s a stillness, awe on Chris’s face, and then Seb feels a hand running up his chest to wrap around his throat, a flesh and blood collar, and every fiber of his being sings with relief. He’d forgotten how that contact affected him: restraint, yes, but even more, Chris’s hands, his voice, his gaze. A benediction. 

“Holy shit, Sebastian…” Chris whispers. “Just like that huh?” 

Filterless and honest he answers softly, “...For you…” He reaches out, sliding a hand along Chris’s clavicle, then further, cupping the back of his head. “Please.”

“Christ,” Chris gasps, mouth dropping open, and he lunges up to kiss Sebastian. 

Everything explodes as Chris drags him off the seat and into his lap,vcradling Seb’s head as he kisses him fiercely. Sebastian’s body goes loose, pliant, but he kisses back with matching fervor, completely oblivious to the way his own hands are creeping upward. 

Warm, solid, all encompassing, Chris licks into his mouth like he does everything else: with complete focus, and being the subject of that focus has Seb’s head spinning. Pain zings through him as teeth sink into his lower lip and he whines against Chris’s mouth, wriggling lower, trying to grind down against Chris’s hips. A hand grips his thigh tight enough to hurt perfectly. A suture. 

Chris finally breaks away, flushed and red-lipped and hair a mess. Sebastian must’ve had his hands in it. Running gentle fingertips across Seb’s temple and down his jaw, Chris observes him contemplatively, but the calm of his thoughtful look is undermined by the way his chest is still heaving.

Through the haze in Seb’s head, wonderment seeps in. Chris. Here. Beneath him, touching his face. Grounding like nothing else has ever been. “You’re here. I wanted you and you’re...you’re here.”

“Me?” Chris sounds disbelieving.

“You pinned me down. At the gym. And it -” He shudders, embarrassed, but Chris asked, and he wants to be good. “- God. You. Yes,” he adds. “Badly.” 

Chris gapes at him with reverence. “This? From me?” and he gestures to the cuffs and crops hanging from the wall. 

“Everything,” Seb whispers and Chris stands abruptly with Seb’s legs wrapped around his waist before letting him slide a little, feet finally on the ground. Sebastian is pretty sure Chris doesn’t realize exactly what he means by ‘everything’, that his secret’s safe, so he let’s himself be held, listens as Chris whispers into his ear. 

“We’re gonna go home, Seb, and I’m gonna take good care of you. But we gotta get out of here first. Can you walk?”

Seb nods slowly. Wide-eyed. He can feel it. “Of course.”

Chris’s eyebrow twitches up. “Don’t ‘of course’ me. You can barely stand.” To prove his point he unwinds his embrace, and Sebastian does wobble just the slightest bit before steadying himself. “Good boy.” The reward is a an arm around his waist again, warm and calming. 

A few people look at them suspiciously as they exit. Maybe they recognize Chris, maybe they saw Seb come in not a half hour before and are confused as to why he’s leaving so soon, but no one stops them until the bubbly little blonde Dom at the door. 

“Oh hey!” She says brightly, then does a double take at Chris. “Heading out?”

Sebastian understands the concern. If someone were being unsafe they could easily abuse the vulnerability of subspace, and its almost never appropriate for a Dom to remove a sub from a club while he or she is under, but that’s not what’s happening here, and both for his sake and Chris’s, he needs her to believe that quickly. 

“Yeah,” he says with a smile. He looks her in the eye though it makes him vaguely uncomfortable, but she’ll never let them go if she thinks he’s under. “This is a … friend of mine. We haven’t seen each other in a while, and...well…” He glances coyly up at Chris from beneath his lashes and bites his lip, watching blue eyes darken in his direction before turning back to the blonde. “We’re gonna get out of here.”

She nods, and he knows she’s convinced because she looks disappointed. “Well. Have a good night. And feel free to stop by anytime,” she adds, but they’re already out the door.

“Quite the little tease,” Chris growls accusingly, low enough that Seb feels the rumble of it where their sides are pressed together. “And a very convincing actor.”

Sebastian doesn’t mention that it’s wasn’t acting, not in the slightest, and wiggles further under Chris’s arm beneath his jacket, watching the other man’s face in the glow of his phone.

“Cab’ll be here in two,” Chris murmurs, pocketing his cell and glancing down at Seb. “You ok?”

He nods. “Ish. Better. Now.”

“And you’re ok with this? Coming home with me? I can take you back to your place if…” 

“No! You said - you said...you’d take care of me.” His voice gets quiet and small as the embarrassment sets in, but Chris beams. Kisses him again, easy and sincere.

“Of course. If that’s what you want.”

“Said it a hundred times,” he grumbles into Chris’s shoulder. “You want it in writing? A letter? A contract?”

“Sebastian…” The tone holds warning, but there’s amusement there too.

“I could get a tattoo,” he proposes slyly. “‘Tie me up,’ in flowery script. Or maybe ‘Fuck me through the mattress, please?’”

Grinning, he looks up in time to see Chris’s eyes darken as he fists a hand in Seb’s hair and yanks his head back. “Please, what?”

“Please, Sir,” Seb finishes quickly, breathlessly, feeling the fingers at his scalp in the base of his spine and tips of his toes. 

They’re interrupted by the cab pulling up and Chris tugs him into the back seat. For a moment the new surroundings and the situation start to crowd into his mind again, but then Chris takes both his wrists tightly in one hand as he gives the driver the address, and Seb’s heartbeat drops from a sprint to a jog.

“I got you,” Chris murmurs into the hum of the cab, and the ride flies by, cradled in those syllables.”I got you.”

He keeps his word. They pull up to a brick apartment complex, old but well-kept, and Chris pays the driver so quickly that Seb doesn’t even catch the total before he’s being half-carried up carpeted stairs to a second floor door. Chris doesn’t let go of him for a moment, unlocking the deadbolt with one hand and pulling Seb through with the other, not stopping his manic stream of energy until Seb is pressed up against the closed door and pinned there with strong hips, and Chris’s hands cupping his face.

“Seb,” he whispers, and Sebastian’s too far gone, can’t wait, gasps, “Please kiss me -”

Being pinned to the door becomes immediately necessary because Seb’s knees collapse but Chris doesn’t stop, just leans against him, holding him upright with confusing tenderness for how roughly he’s kissing. He’s hard, Seb can feel it where they’re pressed together and it goes straight to his head, power and excitement. Chris is hard for him. Sebastian’s breathless and glassy-eyed when Chris finally pulls away to speak.

“Seb, we gotta talk.”

“Wha - why?” He reaches back to steady himself on the doorknob but it’s not terribly effective. “Did I do something wrong?”

“What? No! I - no, why would you think that?” _You stopped talking to me for a year, clearly it’s not too difficult to fuck up irreparably -_ “I’m not angry with you, but if we’re gonna do this, we need some ground rules. Safewords. Limits.”

Seb nods slowly, coming back into his head a little, which is both helpful and painful. “Alright.” 

“Let me get you some water, and we’ll talk.”

Amazingly, his legs work, and he manages to kick off his boots before following Chris into the kitchen. 

The apartment is bigger than his own, but empty; It’s obvious that Chris only just moved in as well. Seb can see there are only a few glasses in the cabinet as Chris takes one down, and nothing on the counters but a coffeemaker that looks to be used frequently, and a toaster which doesn’t look like it’s ever been used at all. 

“Drink,” Chris says holding out the glass, then frowns, and Seb looks down at the hand he’d extended to receive it. It’s trembling. He pulls away abruptly and focuses on breathing, in, out, ignoring the burn around his wrists and the ache behind his sternum. He reaches again but Chris steps into his space and cradles the nape of his neck, solid and sure in tilting Seb’s head back, and lifts the glass to his lips. 

Seb accepts it without pause, suddenly aware of how thirsty he’s been. He drains more than half then pulls away with a gasp, and before he can wipe the droplets from his lip with a shirtsleeve, Chris brushes a thumb through the wetness, slow and deliberate. Just to be a little shit Seb pokes his tongue out and licks the pad of the finger. It’s Chris’s turn to draw in a sharp breath. “Can you tell me what happened?”

“What do you mean?”

“Why now? You never mentioned this...proclivity, and I haven’t seen you at any clubs before. It’s not like this community is huge. And you’re...different. Lately. And different from before. Did something -”

“No!” Too quick. “No. I’m fine. I’ve always…” Fuck, it’s hard to wade through all the omissions and into the half-truths that might keep them both safe. He tugs his jacket off to buy some time to think, and drapes it over the back of a kitchen chair. “I’ve always been...submissive, but the need ebbs and flows. It’s been...worse, lately. And then when you pinned me -”

Worrying his lip, Chris murmurs, “Sorry I set you off.”

“Don’t be. Besides,” he offers with a wry smile. “You’re cleaning up your mess, now. Ah!”

Chris fists fingers tight into Seb’s hair again, hard enough to pinch wonderfully as he growls, “You are not a mess to be cleaned up, Sebastian.”

“Yes, sir,” he whispers. “I’m sorry. I meant what I said though about - ah! - not that! About not being sorry. I’m glad pinned me. Glad you...found me.”

Chris is staring at him, face so blank it’s certainly covering something, but on the tail of a deep exhale he continues. “Safeword?”

“Colors, if that’s alright, Sir.”

“What’s your color now?”

“Green, but -”

Immediately the grip on his hair loosens and his makes a tiny noise of disapproval, which earns a smile and apologetic fingers combing through his hair. “But?” Chris prompts.

“I’m...today is...You could push me over easily.”

“Push you...badly.”

“Yeah. Yes, sir.”

“Then what do you need?”

The question Sebastian won’t ever be able to answer truthfully. The reality makes his head heavy and his heart beat a little faster. He can’t do this, can’t decide, can’t be responsible for censoring all this betrayal and pain into something that won’t scare Chris into leaving, oh god, what if he leaves again -

“Sebastian.” Chris is saying his name. He struggles to find those blue eyes, safe harbor. He can tell his own are wide. There’s a moment where Chris is searching, clocking the panic, and then, “Supplicant’s pose. Now.”

Like liquid, Seb melts down to his knees then over, arms extended, forehead to the cool tile. Far away, he hears a sound like maybe Chris stubbed his toe but when he speaks his voice is calm. “I’m going to tell you what I’m going to do to you. If you think it will be triggering, you will tell me. Otherwise, you are not to speak. Not a word. Understood?”

Seb opens his mouth to speak then remembers himself and nods instead. He wishes he could see Chris’s face; there’s an unfamiliar hue to his voice. Seb wonders if he could discern it better with the help of facial expression.

“Good,” Chris murmurs and Sebastian feels the praise - heat in his chest, spreading as Chris continues. “I’m going to strip you, cuff you, probably spank you. You won’t come until I tell you, and if you speak without permission you don’t get to come at all. Understood?”

Seb almost drools on the floor as he nods. 

“Up, then. Go to the bedroom and strip.”

Eyes averted, Seb goes. His whole body feels more awake and alive than it has in...well...a year, and he can scarcely believe he’s gotten this lucky. There’s a small chance that this could go awry, but he doesn’t think Chris is the type to humiliate. Some people get off on it, that burn of shame, but Seb hates being mocked, and even more so now, raw and wrung out as he is, and especially because it’s Chris. He plans to have yellow at the tip of his tongue. At least for tonight. 

The bedroom is bigger than Seb’s whole apartment, fairly sparse and bed unmade, and a small part of him wants to dive beneath the haphazard pile of blankets and just go to sleep. This whole thing will probably ruin him, he’s aware. And yet, between the command and the echo of Chris’s hands on his jaw, his waist, in his hair… 

He’s undoing his belt before he’s even aware that his hands are moving. Jeans get folded neatly, boxers and shirt on top, carefully placed on the dresser, and then, with a gesture that feels more natural than breathing, he sinks to his knees. 

Footsteps at the door signal Chris’s presence, but Seb doesn’t look up, eyes fixed firmly on the upturned palms of his hands. There’s a rustling sound, and from his periphery he watches as another set of jeans, boxers, a t-shirt are added to the pile of clothes on the dresser, then a hush falls, so profound and full that Sebastian has to look up.

Chris is standing in the dappled darkness, not a scrap of cloth on his body. Light and shadow caress the cut of his hips, the line of his collarbone, the ink on his clavicle, the shine on the head of his flushed cock, and Seb wants his mouth on him _now_. Chris, for his part, is staring as if trying to devour him by sight and Seb swears he can feel it, tingling across the surface of his skin.

“So beautiful,” Chris murmurs, stalking toward him with measured slowness. “You’re fuckin’ gorgeous, Sebastian.” 

Heat washes his face, but it registers only distantly as the words untether him. The room fades as Chris, standing close enough to radiate warmth, runs gentle fingers over his eyebrows, the bridge of his nose, the curve of his cheekbones, and then pushes them into Seb’s mouth. Heavy on his tongue, insistent, he fucks in and then withdraws, rolling Sebastian’s bottom lip back as he does.

The fingers only serve as a reminder of how badly Seb wants Chris’s cock in his mouth and as they pull away, he follows, nipping at Chris’s fingertips. He tisks. “I think you need somethin’ to keep that smart mouth occupied.” He runs a hand over his cock but doesn't look away, and the gaze makes Seb feel like he’s being torn open and cleaned out. It _hurts_ after attempting numbness for so long, beautifully searing, like winter cold.

Once, twice he slaps his cock against Sebastian’s tongue before easing down his throat and with the weight, the pressure, the velvet and salt of his skin, Seb can’t help himself - he groans. He’s been dreaming about this - about choking on him, about being used and denied release, about making Chris come so hard his knees give out - for so long it hardly seems real.

“Two fingers to tap out, ok?” Chris breathes, demonstrating a peace sign with his free hand and Seb nods as much as he can, and then quite suddenly, thought becomes impossible as Chris pulls out and rams back in. With the first thrust Seb feels his mind become fuzzy, calm, and he lets go of any attempt at controlling the experience. Chris’ll take care of him.

Chris.

It makes sense now, the hundred little gestures of control, not pressure or force, just gentle offerings of relief, even as small as a hand at Seb’s back, steering him toward the food table, handing him an apple, a granola bar, juice. Reminders - eat. Hydrate. Take care of yourself. I insist. I care.

That is, perhaps, the deepest hurt of all, that Seb truly believed Chris cared about him before, and even now there’s something about his mannerisms that belie affection and attachment. Perhaps the attachment’s simply not strong enough. Seb tries not to blame him. Chris is a good man. Anxious and talented and beautiful and kind, with a wildness beneath the serenity he broadcasts to everyone else. 

A wildness that’s showing now, Seb notices as he glances up from beneath his lashes. Bright eyes flash down as Chris drives all the way down Seb's throat then holds him there by the back of the head. Seb struggles a little for the fun of it but doesn't tap out, in fact he works his tongue at the base of Chris’s cock, making him throw his head back and growl in response. Seb can’t breathe much, but he trusts Chris, and besides, he can feel how badly Chris wants him with every twitch and tremor. He gags slightly, but doesn’t move. He’s good. 

The moon shining through the window casts charcoal shadows, and everything is getting lighter, easy, liquid. Just as white haze encroaches at the edge of his vision, Chris yanks him to his feet and tosses him on the bed, clicking on the light as he goes.

Sebastian hasn’t even finished bouncing back from the the pillow top when Chris follows with his body, crushing Seb into the sheets, safe and warm and real, and kisses him roughly before pulling off and snarling, “Hands above your head. Do. Not. Move.”

Seb complies as quickly as his gelatinous bones will allow, wrapping one hand around the other wrist to keep himself in check, and it becomes a necessity because Chris is kissing him. Not his mouth. His shoulder. His clavicle. Ribs. Hips. The delicate insides of elbows, wrist. Knees. Ankles. Seb is so hard he aches at the tenderness of Chris’s caresses, but there’s a sadness too, a sigh he can’t explain hovering in his throat. It flies out of his mind though, when warm breath ghosts over his cock and he shudders, arches up, forgetting himself, and Chris sinks his teeth into Seb’s thigh. He manages not to scream, but only just barely. “I told you not to move.” His gaze resting heavy on Sebastian’s body has physical weight, assessing, discerning even as he murmurs, “You’re desperate for it aren’t you? When was the last time you let someone do this for you, Sebastian? You can answer me.”

Seb’s not far enough under to forget himself, forget what’s at stake, so he shrugs, shakes his head. “Don’t remember.”

“Weeks? Months?”

“Years.” The word is just air and Chris surges forward to catch it in his mouth. 

“Why?” He sounds angry and possessive, and Seb can’t find an answer that won’t give him away. He tries, mouth opening and closing a few times, but nothing comes, nothing safe, and it makes him feel like shit. He can’t answer his Dom and he can’t answer himself and he’s already not good enough and -

“Roll over.” Command. Answers made easy. Seb obeys. “Good boy.” In the middle of a sigh, Sebastian finds himself yanked over Chris’s lap, ass up and centered. He’s so surprised he yelps and receives a pinch to the thigh for his disobedience. “Five for moving.” Seb feels the scratch of fingernails up one leg and down the other, and he shudders. “And five for waiting so long. You deserve to be comfortable, Sebastian. To be whole. Understand? Tell me.”

“Yes, sir,” he says softly, overwhelmed with kind words and acute sensations. 

“You can make as much noise as you like. But don’t you dare move, or I won’t touch you for the rest of the night.”

The sob that escapes Sebastian is not his intention, but it’s forgotten immediately because without preface, Chris brings a hand down onto Seb’s ass. Hard.

The crack echoes in the room along with Sebastian’s groan as brilliant pain billows then dissipates. The second lands a little lower and the third on his other cheek. He whimpers, desperate to press up into the strikes or down where his cock is caught against Chris’s leg, but he controls himself. He can be good, has to be good. If Chris stops touching him, he might never recover. Number five lands right over the first one and Seb cries out. The sting of six lasts longer than he’s expecting. Seven, eight and nine are a confusing blend of pain that morphs directly to extreme arousal, and on ten he’s aware that he’s weeping, but then Chris turns him in his arms.

His ass is on fire pressed against skin and cotton, but Chris looks wrecked, glassy eyed, almost as if he himself were descending into some sort of subspace. “Color?”

“Green, Chris.”

“So good for me, Seb. You did so good.” Warm fingers trace his mouth, stroke his cheek, then into his hair, doting and fond and too much, so Seb leans up and kisses him. Chris’s eyes slide closed but Sebastian keeps his own open and sees the surprise flash across his face at Seb’s initiative. How could Chris possibly be surprised? If they could do this every day for the rest of -

He lets himself get lost in the kiss, the slide of their mouths and strong arms tightening around him until he’s crushed to Chris’s chest, one hand thrown around the taller man’s neck for support. Each sweep of Chris’s tongue, each huffed breath and stifled groan winds him up higher until a sound breaks free from his chest, needy and rough, and Chris tears his mouth away to stare, wide eyed, before shoving Seb back on the bed and grabbing the lube and a condom from the bedside table in a single, swift movement. Seb, so eager and high strung he feels drunk, slicks a finger in his mouth and reaches down to begin working himself open.

When Chris turns back and sees, he freezes, pupils expanding impossibly wider, blue rimmed midnight glinting in the warm light of the lamp. There’s a hitch in his breath, so small Seb thinks maybe he’s imagined it, but then Chris crawls up on the bed to kneel between Sebastian’s knees, watching intently. “Seb. Jesus.” He sounds winded. “Roll over.” 

Sebastian finds himself on his knees, sinking his teeth into his arm as Chris’s finger, slick and only a little cool, circles then slips in to the first knuckle. “Fuck. So tight. Gotta relax for me baby.”

It’s excitement and arousal stringing him tight and trembling, but Chris told him to relax so he tries - sighs out some of the tension and the finger sinks a little deeper. “Good boy.”

The words strike him like another blow and he’s relieved beyond measure that his body is following Chris’s command of its own volition, because he’s certainly not able to focus on holding still. _Good boy?_ Fuck.

Unsurprisingly, Chris is frustrating slow working him open, taking his time and a generous amount of lube to ease the way. Despite having permission to talk, Seb doesn’t want to push it, wants to be good, but at three fingers a small sob bursts out of him as he begs, “Please, Chris. Fuck. Please.”

There’s a rough inhale and the foil of the condom packet crinkles, but the kiss, excruciatingly soft on his lower back, disarms Seb and he shouts as Chris begins to push in.

It’s been awhile since anything this large stretched him out so it’s not surprising that it hurts a little, even with the prep, as Chris inches in slowly. Pleasure and pain blaze through his mind, sending him to the edge, but as he starts to whimper, Chris’s hands come to rest on his hips, holding him firmly then smoothing up his spine, his shoulders, feather light and comforting.

Chris pulls out and thrusts back in slowly, experimentally, and Seb can tell without looking that Chris’s entire focus is on him, making sure he’s ok, and just the thought of it makes Seb so immediately aroused that he gasps aloud.

“Color, Sebastian,” Chris commands. 

“Green.” Seb’s voice is just air. “Green, sir.”

“Good,” he hears, and then hips snap forward.

“Ah! Fuck!” He’s filled up and the noise in his head quiets, finally, and the want only burns in the base of his spine and not in his heart, making him weepy with relief. It’s been _so long_. He wants all of it, everything Chris has to give, wants to take it like a good boy. Wants to make Chris come. Make him happy. Make him proud.

“You want me to use you, little boy?” The words on the tongue of such a squeaky-clean guy are a hundred times more potent and Seb writhes into the bedspread.

“Fuck, yes, please sir, _god_ -”

“You gonna be good for me?”

“Anything you want, just please -”

“Anything?”

“Yes! God, Chris, please - ”

His forearm is suddenly gone from in front of him and he almost topples forward but Chris grabs him by the elbows, both arms pulled back to use as leverage to fuck into him more deeply, and Sebastian turns to liquid at the feeling. There’s a shift, but Chris doesn’t let go as he leans forward, lips brushing Seb’s ear. 

“I will, baby.” He rolls his hips gently. “I’ll take care of you.” Seb whimpers.

He does.

He grips bruises into Seb’s arms and fucks him so hard his hips smack into Seb’s ass and make sharp noises in the silence of the room. It aches against his already raw skin, exquisite and freeing and Sebastian’s head lolls forward and his eyes slide shut, slipping into the sensation. 

He’s drowning in it, begging for release, and Chris hauls him up to onto his knees so he can jerk him roughly, holding them up and together with an arm wrapped tightly around Seb’s chest. He can feel a frighteningly powerful orgasm igniting at the base of his spine and he shudders out, “Ch-Chris I’m...I’m -” His body begins to tense and then, with painful abruptness, a strong hand closes around the base of his cock. 

“Ah! Fuck!” he sobs, and Chris’s breath against his ear is searing. “Why?”

“Because your body belongs to me. Your orgasm belongs to me. Isn’t that right?” _Oh fuck, oh god,_ it’s exactly right, and it’s exactly what he needs. Every atom that comprises him belongs to Chris, but Chris doesn’t know that - he thinks this is about physical need, and yet still, still manages to take perfect care of Sebastian. Seb _hurts_ in a dozen different ways, but the lightness in his bones is exquisite. “Isn’t that right, Sebastian?” and he squeezes Seb’s dick once more, drawing a screamed affirmative from Seb’s mouth.

Chris releases him then, and he falls forward into the bed, face wet with tears. He wants to taste, touch, wants contact, power, wants to matter. “I can move, yes sir?”

“You may,” Chris breathes, and Sebastian, little shit that he is, rolls his hips back, fucking himself onto Chris’s cock. Aside from a punched out noise, Chris doesn’t react, so Sebastian continues, little tiny undulations at first, then more as he finds an angle that has Chris’s cockhead brushing against his prostate. Seb widens his stance, knees further apart and lets his head drop, sinking his hands into his own hair. “Chris,” he sighs. “Chris, fuck. Please touch me.” He doesn’t mean to sound so needy, but it works. Chris grips his hips firmly, not pulling, just guiding, murmuring soft sweetnesses as Seb works himself toward another orgasm.

“So beautiful, Seb. So fucking sexy. Look at you. That beautiful back...god you have them most perfect ass... takin’ my cock so -ah!- nice. Jesus fucking Christ Sebastian.”

Despite his sweet words Chris denies him release again, and Sebastian falls hard into deep subspace without warning. He’d been floating before. Now he’s flying, everything and nothing, too much and not enough…

There’s the crack of a palm over his ass, and Seb sobs a touch too loudly so Chris flips him over and catches him under the knees to fold him up. “You’re ok, Seb. I got you. Been so good.”

Seb moans softly. He feels molten and he wants to come so badly and he’s trying not to sink any further because he wants to watch Chris’s face and be perfectly aware of every nuance, cataloguing it for a lonely later when he’ll need it the most. He feels how slow his eyelids are moving but every image above him is crystal clear. 

Chris is so fucking beautiful - flushed cheeks, and his eyes look navy in the low light, contrasting his lips, red and slick. The muscles of his neck and shoulders stand out in cords as he holds himself up, though Seb wishes for a moment he’d just let go and crush them together, and the whole sight of him, power riding the very edge of control, has Sebastian almost out of his mind. 

“Can I touch you, please, please let me touch you -”

“Yeah, Seb, yeah.”

Sebastian reaches up and, in spite of the way pleasure is being wrung almost animalistically from his body, touches Chris’s face reverently, running a thumb along the bolt of his jaw. He wants to say _I love you._ I wants to say _Thank you._ Wants to beg _Don’t leave again._ That one slips out.

“Don’t go,” he whispers, and pain breaks across Chris’s face. He’s real and warm in Sebastian’s hands. For how long?

“Seb -”

“Don’t leave.”

“I won’t. I won’t, I promise. Don’t cry.” He sounds concerned, and Sebastian supposes they both should be. He didn’t even know he was crying again. “I’m here, baby. I got you.” 

“Please -” he doesn’t even know what he’s begging for at this point, release or comfort or an impossible future, but Chris leans in and kisses away any semblance of thought, kisses him and doesn’t stop, sliding in and out of Sebastian’s body quicker and quicker and Seb can hear himself whimpering, tensing, feels Chris above him begin to tremble and when he opens his eyes Chris is staring at him, mouth agape and damp-eyed and it’s too much.

“Chris!”

“Come for me, Seb.”

It sounds like he’s the one begging.

\--

Sebastian wakes to light. On his skin. In his body. Through his mind. He sighs. Shifts. Freezes.

The warmth on his bare back isn’t entirely sunshine leaking through the cracked curtains. Solid and ridiculously warm, Chris is breathing lightly against the back of his neck, sending the little hairs there to attention, and his arm is slung easily over Seb’s ribs. There’s nothing to do but lift Chris’s hand up, kiss the knuckles, and fall back asleep.

\--

When Sebastian wakes again, he’s alone. He's not surprised, but the disappointment washes over him anyway. 

He rolls out of bed, sore and thirsty but more relaxed than he’s been in years, so completely it’s jarring - the absence of a chaotic brain that he’d never noticed until it’d been soothed. Chris had wound Seb up and eased him down and he’s himself again. Finally. His ass is too sensitive from the spanking to handle denim right now, but there are a pair of silvery-smooth basketball shorts folded on a chair in the corner of the room and he steps into those before padding down to the kitchen, following the smell of coffee.

It's early enough that the sun is still soft in the room, painting the air hazy and gold - or maybe that's the endorphins talking - around the figure hunched at the table. 

Chris in regular clothing is distracting. Chris in pajamas pouring over a packet of paper, the script probably, and tapping along to whatever’s playing in his headphones, is a million times worse. Loose flannel pants sit low on his hips, and he might as well not be wearing the white tank top because it’s basically see through. 

Focus. Water. Coffee. 

Right. 

Seb chugs two glasses of water then fills a mug with coffee and carefully settles at the table across from Chris, bridging the space to tap a fingertip against the wrist of the hand holding the script.

Chris jumps as if scalded, and Seb jerks his hand away. “Sorry.”

“Seb,” he says warmly, tugging the headphones down to hang around his neck. “Sorry man, you scared me. You sleep well?”

“Yeah.” Too perfectly. It’ll never be right again. “You?”

“Yeah,” he answers quietly, then startles, remembering. “You feel ok?”

“My ass is a little sore, hence borrowing your shorts,” Seb smirks. “But I’ve had worse.”

Frowning, Chris says, “How’s your head?”

“Huh?”

 

“I got...pretty rough with you. Any signs of subdrop?”

Seb sips his coffee thoughtfully, analyzing. “No, actually.” He hears his voice sound surprised, but he’s not really. He knew Chris would take care of him. 

“And whatever the issue was when I found you at the club - It’s better?”

Not fixed. Not really. “Better, yeah.” Then, “Wait, how _did_ you find me?”

Chris shrugs. “Sheer, miraculous luck? I just happened to be there. I think pinning you down at the gym messed with me a little, too.”

He seems so cool, so casual about it, but that can’t be right. Chris is a golden boy. Figuratively and literally. Kind and sweet and sunshiny and breathtaking and normal in a way Sebastian’s never been. “Was that...that wasn’t your first time. At a club. Domming.” It’s an awkward sort of non-question, and Chris’s looks incredulous.

“Did it feel like it was my first time?”

Seb flushes red. Stares at a drop of coffee on the table, perfectly round. “No,” he whispers. 

“Hey.” Chris shifts forward in his chair and wraps one hand around Sebastian’s wrist. “What?”

Sebastian shakes his head. “I...it’s not…I didn’t know. That you were into this stuff.” Suspected perhaps, but never dared dream. If something seems to good to be true, it usually is. 

“Does it bother you?” His voice is careful, controlled, giving nothing away.

“Y - no, not that you are, just...I wish I’d known. Not that people go around their workplace talking about the weird sex they have.”

“What we did last night was weird?” 

“No! That’s not what I meant. Last night was...incredible.” Too soft, Sebastian. Too fond. “Sexy as fuck, and overwhelming in the best way, and - and...it was good Chris. No, I just meant…Fuck.” He lets go of his coffee to bury his face in a ceramic-warmed hand. He’s trying so hard not to give anything way, and not only failing but making Chris feel bad as well. The fingers circling his wrist don’t move though, don’t leave. Maybe he can tell a version of the truth without digging himself too far in a hole. “If I’d’ve known, we could’ve done this sooner.”

He drops the protective hand and Chris is still unreadable but at least this time Sebastian can tell there’s a war going on beneath that serene surface, as tumultuous as Seb’s own mind perhaps, and it makes him feel a little better, but also worried. If Chris is as fucked up about _anything_ as Sebastian is about this then he’s hurting now, and Seb doesn’t want that for him. “Are _you_ ok?”

One eyebrow quirks up, curious and surprised, then he responds softly, “I feel great, Seb. Thanks.”

 _Subject change. Come on Sebastian, it’s your forte._ “Eh, you did all the heavy lifting.” He drains the rest of his coffee just a little too quickly and hops up to get more. “Whatcha workin’ on?”

He fills his mug, rinses some spilled coffee off his hand, and turns around in the time it takes Chris to stammer, “Uh...lines.” He’s staring so incredulously that Seb, suddenly self-conscious, asks, “Should I not have borrowed the shorts?” It’s not like he borrowed anything else. He’s not wearing anything else. 

Chris shakes his head slowly. “Nah. You look -” The dazed expression clears and he changes tack. “It’s totally fine man. I’m...I’m…” He waves the script absently and finally gets the words out. “I’m having a fuck of a time getting my lines memorized for some reason. I dunno. Maybe my brain is deteriorating in my old age.”

Seb snorts. “Yeah, you’re ancient. You want help?”

“What?”

“With lines. You want help? I could read the other parts, quiz you as you go...you probably know way more than you think, anyway.” He makes grabby hands at the script until Chris rolls his eyes and tosses it over.

“You’re reading the lines for James.”

“Great. What’s happening here?”

“Friendly rivalry.”

“Apropos,” Seb murmurs, winking, and Chris chuckles. 

“No kidding. Start from the yellow highlighter.” 

“I’d say I’m surprised to see you here, but honestly, I’m surprised it’s taken me this long to catch you. Your technique is rudimentary at best.”

“Says the man with a switchblade instead of a firearm.”

“There is an honorable way to do things, you know.”

“An honorable way to die.”

“Hasn’t happened yet. Besides, _I_ found _you_.”

“Or did I let you? I saw you in Chicago. And then again in Dublin. You’re not as subtle as you think.”

“That gray suit wasn’t even trying for subtle.”

“The one I wore in Kazan?” Chris pauses, and Seb looks up to see him grinning. It’s his character but it’s him too, real life, shitty, rubbing it in. “You remember what I wore in some random city a year ago?”

Seb glances back down and reads the stage direction in his head before leaning in slightly and murmuring, “I remember a lot about you.”

Chris matches him, leaning into the energy across the table. “Like what?”

“You were born in the Brooklyn. Bright. Athletic.” The script reads {pause}, so he does, before saying, “And then you disappeared. Bet your parents appreciated that.” Shit. Harsh. 

Chris, or Steve, swallows roughly before replying, “You're one to talk. You’ve lived half your damn life below the radar.” The script informs Sebastian that James should look offended, hurt, but cover it quickly with bravado. He kind of figured anyway. It’s obvious here's a history there in both their stories. They don't seem like the type to talk about it, though. “What are you hiding from?

“None of your fucking business, Rogers.”

“Actually,” Chris says, standing, “As of six months ago, you’re my only business.”

{Pause} “You’re assigned to me.” He speaks slowly, realizing, and rises as well.

Chris nods. “Turns out you’re pretty good.”

Seb shrugs. “And you. Too bad you’re working for Pierce. He’s an idiot.”

“Very funny.”

“What?”

“Me working for Pierce. Really.” Dry. Irritated. Then, “You’re serious. Barnes, I don’t work for him.” A pause. Realization. “ I thought...I thought you - ”

“No! Why the fuck -” 

{Phone rings. Barnes answers, listens, hangs up.} “I gotta go,” he mutters brusquely and turns away, only to hear Chris/Steve call, “Barnes! Be careful.”

Seb wheels back around to face him, snarling morosely, “Why? You’re the one I’m running from.”

The tension practically crackles in the room, Chris refusing to break eye contact, and Seb’s whole body is drawn up, ready. 

“Damn,” Chris finally murmurs.

Seb feels it too, the connection, the magic, but as he shifts his shoulder twinges, a reminder. There’s no way to forget he’s a stunt double not an actor, and a sub not a boyfriend, so he snarks, “Told you you had your lines memorized.”

“Watch it, smart-ass.”

Seb grins. It’s ridiculous how relieving it is to have their old banter back in addition to this new … whatever it is. “Or what-” he mewls. “Daddy? You gonna punish me?”

Chris drops the script to pin him to the wall.


	3. Chapter 3

It’s so early that even Seb, who usually wakes before the morning mist has been burnt from the ground, is shuffling and rubbing his eyes, still sleepy despite having spent his day off alternately pacing his apartment floor reading the script cover-to-cover and binge-watching every Paul Newman movie on Netflix. And thinking about Chris. 

It shouldn’t be a surprise that Chris is a Dom. He’s a natural, an effortless stickler for control with physical and mental poise that betrays nothing unless he chooses. And he’d chosen Sebastian, possessive and passionate and kind, but Seb can’t shake the feeling he’s missing something.

Early or not, with all those competing thoughts in his head, it’s a relief to begin his run. He strips his shirt, pops in his earbuds, and takes off, not bothering as much with pacing today. If he can get eight miles he’ll be fine, and he usually overcompensates when he’s not paying attention.

The hour flies by and Mackie has to throw a towel at him as he tears around the track to stop his ceaseless orbit. “Fuck dude, you good?” 

“Yeah, why?” 

“That was nine miles. In just over an hour. Make sure you eat today, ok?”

“I’m fine.” 

Mackie looks at him strangely but the worry morphs to amusement fairly quickly. “Nice hickie.”

Seb feels himself paling, even through the sheen of sweat. “No.”

“Yeah,” Mackie chuckles. “I’ll see ya for tumbling in fifteen?”

Sebastian nods hurriedly and sprints down the stairs to the locker room, throwing the door open so hard it bangs against the wall as he rushes to the sink. Sure enough, there’s a large bruise where his neck joins his shoulder, with a smaller one to the right on his collarbone. When he presses one finger against it, the ache shoots straight down his spine, morphing to knee-weakening pleasure as it goes. “Motherfucker,” he breathes, and speak of the devil, Chris strolls in behind him, a little red from his run to the rec center. Sebastian whirls around. 

“What’s wrong?” Chris asks immediately.

Wrong? Nothing’s wrong. Sebastian fucking craves this, to be marked and claimed, and sure, it’s breaking his heart a little that it’s only the ghost of a promise but it’s better than nothing. Unfair, though, that everyone knows now, knows he belongs to someone else, and Chris gets to float through the world, bright-eyed and flirtatious and it’s Sebastian who made him come harder than he has in years. The claim should be mutual even if it’s a facade, painful shadowbox theater.

Unintentionally Seb’s hand wanders up to press against the bruise and Chris’s eyes track the movement, pupils dilating when he hears Seb’s breath catch at the sensation. In a split second Sebastian is on him, tackling him backward against the door and locking the deadbolt. He latches onto Chris’s neck, biting firmly then letting go quickly to lick up to his ear and back down to the the same place, another open-mouthed kiss. Down across his collarbone. Again over the bitemark, beginning to darken. Chris writhes against the metal of the door but Seb grinds his hips forwards, keeping him pinned, wringing a groan from him.

He finally kisses Chris on the mouth gently, a reminder that there’s affection behind the lust, and it undoes both of them a little more than intended. Chris makes a little whimpering noise against his lips, and Seb can’t handle it - slams him back against the door with a palm to his chest and covers the mark on Chris’s neck once more, sucking hard. 

“Sebastian,” he whispers, and Seb tears away, stepping back.

He means for it to sound cocky, confident, with a wink or a smile, but it comes out on air. “Fair’s fair.”

Chris nods slowly, dazedly, still clinging to the waistband of Seb’s shorts with one outstretched arm. “Yeah.”

\--

The director, Hayley Atwell, is already set up with the small crew by the time they arrive, and greets Sebastian graciously. “Good to see you. Mackie says you’ve been doing extraordinary work.” 

“He’s killin’ it,” Jake calls across the space from where he’s retying his boots and Seb awkwardly waves the compliment away. 

“Alright,” Atwell hollers to the room, clapping “Let's get started!”

It's not as hot as it's been on other sets, thankfully, but still not comfortable. The first few stunts are basic running shots, but the next sequence requires a bit more setup, a leap from a windowsill to swing across a ceiling full of rafters. The set's designed to look like a warehouse, but ceiling level is low to keep it from being too dangerous. It is, however, a solid story off the ground, far enough to get the shots from the perspective they need, but not entirely safe. 

Seb hates harnesses though, and wires - ironic considering his love for other types of restraints - and after an initial argument, Atwell leaves well enough alone. The crew lays mats, thin, but enough to keep from breaking anything, along his path, and they get to work.

He breezes through the first few sequences - barebones movements - a simple lunge from the windowsill to the first rafter, then a few more shots of him traveling hand over hand to the other side. “How’re the clothes?” the stylist Zariya calls. 

“Jacket’s a little tight, but everything else feels ok.”

“Tight in the shoulders?”

“Yeah.”

She makes a note in her binder as Atwell yells, “Looks good Seb. Can you add in any flash? Flips, tricks, anything?”

Seb grins broadly. “Really?”

From the wings he hears Mackie’s voice. “He’s not on wires, Atwell.”

“Hey, he signed a release.”

“Is it safe?” Chris’s voice. Chris is here.

He can tell Mackie’s trying to be low key as he responds, “Not really, but Seb’s the best there is.”

“That’s not - ” Chris interjects, but Seb is already sifting through options. This is his craft and he’s nothing if not a show off, but he won’t pretend it has nothing to do with his audience. Chris watching. Chris worrying about him.

“Any constraints?” he hollers.

“Don’t die?” Atwell offers, unintentionally echoing Mackie, and Seb chuckles. He hears Chris curse, not as quiet as he probably thinks he’s being. 

Sebastian backs up far enough to get a head start and takes off at top speed toward the ground level window. Still yards from the wall, he jumps, landing firmly with his feet on the windowsill then launches himself up the catch his fingertips on the window ledge above. He’s barely settled into a crouch when he flips backwards into thin air. With ease he catches the first rung, but he’s facing the wrong direction, so he twists a full 180 in the air before catching himself again.

He finishes out the monkey-bar shot again, then drops back to the floor, landing with bent knees and a small roll on the mat. The room explodes. 

Grinning, he straightens. “Give me one more?”

“As many as you want!” Hayley calls, applauding. “That was fantastic!”

He does the running jump to mount the windowsill again, but this time, when he flips off the ledge he latches onto a rafter and pulls up hard, swinging around it like a gymnast until he can plant his feet on the rafters and run across in easy lunges instead of swinging. 

They shoot for another half hour then call a break. Seb’s been forcibly stripped of his jacket and is wrenching the top off large bottle of water when Atwell calls, “Ok, we’re gonna try’n get the fight from scene 26.”

“I thought that wasn’t until tomorrow.”

Ignoring him, she barrels on. “Do you mind reading for AJ? He’s not in town today or tomorrow, but we’re ahead of schedule and I’d like to get these shots.”

“I wasn’t at any of the rehearsals…”

Atwell shrugs. “We’ll cut in a lot of AJ over you anyway. Besides, you’ve got a photographic memory, don’t you? You’ll have the lines.” 

“Yeah. Ok.” He hopes it doesn’t come off as too eager. 

“Great. We’ll get you guys touched up and reconvene in an hour.” And then she’s off, rattling commands to various people.

Dazedly, Seb finds himself herded to the new space. He’s tired, a little buzzy from lack of food and extra exercise, but excited. He hopes it’s Chris and not Jake he’ll be working with. Jake’s sweet, of course, but… well... obviously. He’s deep in thought when he finds his seat, barely noticing as his vision goes wispy and white. He sways a little, sighing and pinching the bridge of his nose. He needs to -

“When was the last time you ate?” Chris’s voice is soft but close from where he’s caught Seb’s elbow. 

“I was just thinking about that,” Seb responds, turning with a smile, but Chris looks serious. “What?”

Chris shakes his head. “Let’s get you some food.” 

They wander, side by side, to where the PA’s have set out a meal, and Seb grabs a sandwich half and shoves it in his mouth. Chris pockets a granola bar but doesn’t eat anything, watching hawkishly as Sebastian finishes his food.

“Jesus Christ, Chris. What?” 

He sighs, and scuffs his shoe against the floor. “Those tricks. That was...dangerous.”

Seb shrugs. “Nature of the gig. Sexy too though, right?” he teases, elbowing Chris roguishly.

It finally earns him the hint of a smile, filled with heat as well as mirth. “Very.” Voice still low he adds, “You need to take care of yourself, Sebastian.”

Maybe because he wants Chris to take care of him and can’t have it, maybe because he usually does a fine job of it himself, he bristles. “I’m fine. Leave it alone, Chris.”

“Is that what you want?”

They both freeze, halfway back to their seats, surrounded by a sea of oblivious coworkers. Sebastian wants to scream, to tear him apart. How dare Chris fucking abandon him for a _year_ and then act like it’s Sebastian that’s ever been in the driver’s seat. But he can’t lie. Not now that he knows what Chris tastes like, how he feels, like heaven, like safety, like home.

“No,” he blurts out, broken and pleading and frustrated. “I want… I want -”

“Sebastian? Sorry, can you try this on? I let the shoulders out a little, it should be better.”

He deflates at the interruption but offers her a smile as he accepts the garment. “Yeah. Thanks Zariya.” Shrugging it on feels easier already, but he stretches just to be sure. “Feels great. I'll let you know after the fight scene though.” 

“Perfect.” 

Chris is still standing behind him when Zariya disappears into the crowd but the moment has passed. “Come on, old man. We’ve got some choreo to rehearse.” He doesn’t look up to gauge Chris’s reaction.

Seb is increasingly grateful he’s been pouring over the script somewhat obsessively. That morning with Chris had been magical, magnetic, and not just because he wants to jump the guy. The dialogue is intimate and believable, and the details in the script create a rich story, full of energy and tension and pain. The characters are broken and fascinating, hurt and hopeful, and he’ll be damned if he doesn’t identify with that.

“Ok, stand off with bad guy, potential injury, heart eyes, avoidance tactics,” Sebastian sums up as the discussion of the scene winds down. 

Atwell chuckles. “Wow. Way to boil it down to tropes.”

Seb shakes his head, grinning as well. “Nothing wrong with that. I love tropes - these in particular. People connect with them.”

Atwell’s looking at him strangely. “Yeah. Here’s hoping. Alright! Here we go!”

The bluster to get everything set fades into white noise as he and Robert, the actor playing the villain, take their marks. Sebastian runs through the sequences in his head, and by the time Atwell yells “action!”, he’s settled into his character. 

He like James Barnes. He’s an asshole, cocky and suave, but it covers a multitude of vulnerabilities. Barnes is also extremely proficient at his job. Another quality they share. 

He and Robert take off at a run, meet in the middle, and grapple. There’s a knife involved, an actual blade to be dodged, and Robert accidentally nicks him once or twice, but it’s fine. They laugh a lot, rolling around on the ground, pausing every so often for makeup to add drawn on injuries or dirt, so realistic is kind of jarring. At the end of the fight, he’s supposed to get sliced across his upper arm through shirt and jacket and all, and even though it’s him and not AJ, they film the shots anyway, laying a delicate layer of fake skin over a blood packet on Sebastian’s arm, then suiting him up again and carefully slicing it (him) open. 

At the end of the fight scene is when ‘Steve’ comes in to save the day. His character lands a solid shot in Robert’s character’s shoulder and they scuffle, forcing Robert to flee, but when Chris locks eyes with Sebastian, everything shifts. He goes from a guy playing a part to James Buchanan Barnes, and he is painfully and irrevocably aware of the fact that he is in love with Steve Rogers. 

Chris strides to his side, dropping to one knee. From the fight scene Seb knows Buck’s ribs would be bruised to shit, his neck and head would be killing him, and he’d have a limp in his left leg, so as Chris helps him sit up, he winces, sipping in little breaths to keep his lungs from shifting his ribs too much.

“What the hell?” Chris murmurs.

“What?” Seb grunts irritably. He’s known the lines since yesterday. Photographic memory for the win.

“That was a dumbass move, Barnes.”

“Hey,” he jokes, struggling to his feet. “I’m not dead yet.”

“No. But you could’ve been.”

He ignores him. “We should clear out. They’ll be sending backup.”

“Can you walk?”

“Of course I can walk, you idiot.”

He limps towards his next mark, attempting to hide Bucky’s discomfort from Steve, who doesn’t buy it. 

“You’re bleeding.”

“Nature of the job.”

“Bad. Your arm -”

“He didn’t hit the artery. It’s dermal.”

“Come back to the safehouse. I’ll get you patched up.”

“Hell no! Your bosses want me dead.”

“They’d never know -”

“Thanks but no thanks, Rogers.” He trudges on, just a step from his mark, hoping he’s managed to convey how badly Buck wants to go with Steve, and how frightened he is to accept his help. 

“Would you stop?!” There’s a panicked edge to Chris’s voice that freezes him in his tracks as Chris rounds him, opening up to the camera. “Please come with me.”

Seb’s chest aches. “Why?”

“Because,” Chris says, voice so full of emotion it could break. “If you die…” He gasps a breath then turns it into a joke. Classic Sebastian move, actually, Seb thinks. “It’d be really inconvenient. I mean, you know what a pain it is to get rid of a body,” He chuckles, eyes wary and suspiciously shiny and Sebastian realizes he has no idea what his own face has been doing, but he’s immersed so deeply in the scene he can’t be bothered to care. 

“Fine,” he mutters. “But I’m not happy about this.”

“Of course not,” Chris grins.

“And there better be whiskey at this safehouse of yours.”

“What would a safehouse be without it?”

Seb offers him a half smile and Chris returns it, too happy for the situation, or maybe just right, and starts to lead them out, but Sebastian stops him, fingers circling wrist. “Hey. Thank you.”

Chris lets a puff of air escape then turns back, hand skating up Seb’s uninjured arm. “Yeah, Barnes. Always.”

“Aaand, cut!”

Both of them jerk apart, startled. It’s a only a little comforting that Chris appears just as jarred as Seb feels, and they seem unable to break eye contact. In the background he hears Atwell shout, “That was fucking incredible! Again!” 

Chris’s face breaks into a smile just for Sebastian, pleased and proud, and he loops their arms together as they cross back to their first mark.

They run the scene a few more times, and before anyone knows it, it’s time to wrap for the day. Sebastian feels a hundred feet tall, but also exhausted as he changes into gym shorts to scrub the remaining dirt from his skin, wincing as the rag scrapes over the handful of cuts he incurred in the knife fight scene. Actually, now that he’s standing in front of a mirror, he realizes he’s kind of beat to shit. Not as bad as some gigs he’s taken, but still, rough for a first day out.

“Jesus Christ,” a voice breathes from behind him, Chris standing in the door of the trailer. “That’s from today?”

Seb looks down, taking in the bruises across his torso and down his shins, knife nicks up his arm and all over his hands, and an elbow that’s missing some skin. “Ah,” he says quietly. “Yeah. Mostly.”

Chris’s eyes flick up to meet Seb’s as he murmurs, “Come over tonight?”

\--

The doorman at the front desk seems to be expecting him and buzzes him up to Chris’s apartment with a smile. 

Excited and nervous, Seb taps on the apartment door, which opens almost immediately. “Dude,” he says, all nerves leaving him. “Are you making cookies?”

Chris chuckles and steps back to let him in. “Yeah.”

“Why?” He slips past Chris and into the apartment, investigating the smell which leads him to plates of cooling cookies on the counter in the kitchen and he swipes one up, cradling it in his palm as it melts a little.

Rubbing the back of his neck Chris mumbles, “Just...I wanted to…” He looks embarrassed for some reason, and Seb wants to give him a hard time about it but the bite of molten cookie dissolving in his mouth keeps him silent. “You had a rough day and I…”

“Chris,” Seb clarifies, swallowing and setting the rest of the cookie back on the plate. “Are these for me?”

“If you...want them?”

“Of course, they’re amazing, but why?”

“You got beat to shit today.” Chris’s eyes wander over his body and suddenly the cookie is the least of his concerns, evaporating under that rapidly darkening gaze. When he speaks, Chris’s voice is lower, rougher, and Sebastian struggles to interpret the inflection. “The only marks I wanna see on that beautiful body are ones I put there.”

_Please._

“Then why don’t you?” Sebastian challenges, breathy and hyper aware, chocolate on his tongue, heart beating in his throat. He can see the shadows cast by Chris’s eyelashes, and faint freckles from the sun, and blue ringed with black, and Chris is on him, pinning him to the counter. 

“Where do you get off with all that attitude?” Chris growls into his neck and Sebastian shrugs, grinning while he can, where Chris can’t see it. “You want marks Sebastian?” A nod this time and then he’s being yanked away, down the hall and into the bedroom. “I’ll give you marks. But you’re gonna work for them.”

Sebastian shudders visibly at the threat, clearly pleased at the idea. The idea of Chris marking him is one thing. Earning them is another entirely.

He winds up naked in the center of Chris’s room, toes wiggling in the soft carpet, with Chris circling him like a shark, taking in every cut and bruise. He drags one finger along Sebastian’s ribs, one brow dipping in concern before trailing up to press his fingertips into the bruise he’d left on Seb’s neck before, only slightly faded, and Sebastian’s knees buckle. 

“You’re gorgeous. You know that?” Chris asks and Seb blushes, looking away. Chris catches his chin, bringing his focus back. “Eyes on me, Sebastian.” It’s more intimate than any sexual act, looking into blue eyes blown wide, warm and kind despite the veil of control. Don’t look away. “Good.”

Seb shivers. 

“Are you cold?

“No.” He’s not. “Just...you’re…this is a lot.”

“Really?” Chris sounds amused. “That’s very flattering. Color?”

“Green.”

“Good boy,” he whispers, and Sebastian feels himself beginning to disconnect. “I’m going to ask some things of you. If you succeed, I’ll reward you.” He runs gentle knuckles over the mark on Seb’s neck. 

“And if I fail?”

Chris grins wickedly. “Then I’ll punish you.”

“Oh,” he gasps, clenching his hands at his side. He wants to touch himself, he wants to touch Chris, but he doesn’t have permission, and he’s good. He can make Chris happy. Make him want him.

“On your knees,” Chris orders, and Seb drops like a stone. “Good.” He runs light fingers through Seb’s hair, sending goosebumps out across his skin. “Supplicant’s pose,” and Seb bends, extending his arms, reveling in the stretch through his torso and shoulders. “Present.” He knows what to do of course, but it’s nerve-wracking, making himself so open. Worth it though, when Chris curses under his breath, then, “Perfect. Stand.” Seb complies, folding long legs beneath him and rising smoothly. Chris leans in, and closes his mouth over Sebastian’s left nipple.

Immediately Sebastian’s spine arches, and he throws his head back, overwhelmed at the sensation of Chris rolling that nub between his teeth and how it’s going straight to his cock. Unwavering pressure, alternating with gentle flicks of his tongue - Sebastian’s knees wobble, but Chris told him to stand, so he breathes deeply and Chris finally lets up.

“Fuck,” Seb sighs. His nipple is bright red, the whole thing sensitive and bruised.

“Very nice,” Chris says authoritatively, barely affected. “Touch yourself.”

Seb wants more than anything to make Chris feel even an ounce as shaken as he does, but he’s got no idea how, so he does what he does best. He’s a little shit. 

He steps into Chris’s space, much to Chris’s evident surprise, and holds out a hand cupped beneath the other man’s chin. “Spit. Please.”

There’s a rough intake of breath, sunshine breaking through the clouds, and then Chris is in control again, arching an eyebrow. “Brat.”

“True. But I didn’t disobey.”

“No. No you didn’t,” Chris allows, and just before he bends his head forward Sebastian sees a flash in his eyes that bodes trouble for him.

Chris fucks his mouth over Sebastian’s fingers just once, reappearing shiny and wet, but then Chris kisses his wrist, biting down just a little, and it’s such a sensitive spot, so unexpected, that Seb lets out a little cry. Stubble scrapes across the heel of Seb’s hand, then silk followed by cool air as Chris traces patterns with his tongue before finally pressing a kiss to the center of his palm and letting the spit run warm into Sebastian’s hand.

Seb whimpers as Chris pulls away, much more eager now to touch himself, and something about knowing he’s slicking his cock up with Chris’s spit, like it’s Chris’s mouth on him, has him achingly aroused. 

“That feel good?” Chris growls, watching Seb like a hawk. “Answer me.” 

“Yes, sir. Wish it was your mouth.” Chris catches his bottom lip between his teeth and it’s such a lecherous move Seb can scarcely reconcile it with Chris’s day-to-day persona. “Jesus Christ.”

“Hmm?” He saunters forward, still fully clothed and Seb shakes his head. 

“I can’t...how do you even exist?”

“What’dya mean?” Chris quips, grinning, and Seb _should not respond_ , he’s fucking floating, can’t be trusted with his own words, but of course he does anyway.

“You’re just so fucking - oh god - beautiful, and kind, and stupidly talented - fuck.” The hand ceaselessly obeying Chris’s previous command is getting more and more distracting. “And then you’re...this too, and I just…how are you real?”

Chris shakes his head, arms folded across his chest. “I’m not...I’m an asshole, too, you know.” 

Seb shrugs. “Aren’t we all?”

“And a control freak.”

“Lucky for me.”

“True.” Chris smiles, but it seems sad somehow, and Sebastian would ask but then Chris says, “I want you to come.”

“What?” 

“Get yourself off.”

“N-now?”

“Within the next…” He checks his watch. “Sixty seconds, or you don’t get to come for the rest of the night.”

Sebastian plops down on the edge of the bed and gets to work. It’s easy, in the end. He cracks his eyes open just in time to see Chris pressing a palm to the front of his jeans, then with a hiss undoing them altogether, and Seb comes with the heady knowledge that he made Chris Evans hard enough to hurt.

“Good boy,” Chris murmurs, kneeling and licking up a stripe of come from the trail it’s dripping down the inside of Seb’s thigh, then sucks a mark there, making him twitch sharply.

“Shit,” Seb hisses, but Chris gives him absolutely no recovery time.

“Present. On the bed. Now.”

Seb scrambles, liquid and heat, as fast as he can, but ends up slumped a little anyway, using his forearms as a pillow. “You’re doing well,” Chris murmurs, and curls up to bite Seb’s shoulder hard enough to bruise before retreating down the bed. 

“Th-thank you, sir.”

“Color.”

“Green, sir.”

“Perfect.” 

Chris opens him up, fingers and tongue, more quickly this time, and Seb’s hard again by the time rolls on the condom.

“You gonna fuck me, Daddy?” he grins over his shoulder, wiggling his hips in an attempt to egg Chris on.

“You gonna keep runnin’ that mouth, baby?”

All faux innocence Seb says,“I thought you liked my mouth.”

Chris growls and pushing in as he says, “Oh, I do. Love it, in fact. But it gets you in trouble.”

They wait until he bottoms out and Seb pants, “What do you mean?”

“I was gonna fuck you. Now, you’re gonna do all the work.”

“Huh?”

“I’m not moving. You wanna get off, you work for it.”

The air leaves Sebastian in a rush, but he’s never been patient, and wants to be good, wants to be the best, wants Chris to remember even after he leaves Seb again. Seb can’t forget. Neither should he.

Seb leans forward onto his elbows as slow as he can, then cants himself back, clenching hard. Just because this is for Chris doesn’t mean he can’t enjoy himself, too. 

There's a shaky breath behind him, but when he glances over his shoulder Chris’s face is stoic, and he smiles calmly saying, “Face forward, Sebastian, and get to work.”

“Jesus,” Seb wheezes, but goddamn, he obeys. He fucks himself on Chris’s cock til his hips loosen and he sinks in towards the mattress, spreading his legs to let Chris in deeper. Sebastian’s whimpering, he can hear it, but from far away, beyond time and space, because Chris is touching him, gripping his hips like he’s afraid Seb’ll disappear, and murmuring sweet nothings about how Sebastian is beautiful and good and perfect and for now, Seb can pretend to believe him. 

He’s crying though, oversensitive from the first orgasm, and Chris finally takes pity on him, turning him over and taking control, fucking into him slowly. 

“Please, Sir, I need -”

“Not until I say, Sebastian.”

He sobs, exhausted, but Chris begins to speed up, and finally wraps a hand around Seb’s cock, jerking him in time to his thrusts. Seb listens. He doesn’t come. He holds his breath with the effort, tenses every muscle in his body, and slams his eyes shut. The sight of Chris is too much for him, and he has to be good. 

He almost doesn’t make it, but then - “Now.” - immediately followed by Chris latching his mouth onto Seb’s throat, and the sharp pain punches him over the edge so ferociously that he stops breathing for a moment. Waves of euphoria crash over his body, power dynamics and orgasm and the weight of the body he actually wants above him, not the dozen stand-ins he’d tried to fill the hole in his heart with, and something in him breaks.

He resurfaces to ice being pressed gently to his neck, and he shivers. 

“Sorry,” Chris murmurs ruefully. “I got carried away.”

“Good,” Seb tries, but his voice is just air. “Want it.”

Chris sighs but says, “I’m glad. Now hold still.”

“Why?”

Ignoring him, Chris straddles his hips and opens a little packet, an alcohol wipe. 

“‘S that for?”

No answer, but there’s a cool sting on his arm, and he looks down. Chris is wiping at a cut on his arm, one of many gifts from today’s shoot. He cleans it thoroughly, then smoothes some ointment over it, and moves on. A few more scrapes - elbow, knee, the bone of one wrist. Brow furrowed, he doesn’t look Seb in the eye, but his tongue does creep out of the corner of his mouth, an adorable idiosyncrasy of focus. 

“Thank you,” Seb whispers as he works.

“Of course.”

“I like when you take care of me.” 

That startles Chris into looking up, paying attention. “I like it too, Seb.”

“I like you touching me.”

He smiles and Seb’s breath catches. “I like touching you.”

“I like when you look at me like I’m somebody.”

“Sebastian,” Chris breathes, concerned and sincere. “Of course. You are somebody, a remarkable somebody.”

Seb ducks his head to the side, into the pillow. “Thanks. So are you.”

Chris huffs. “Maybe.” He applies cream to some bruises, a bandaid to one particularly large gash, then flops down beside Sebastian and plucks something from the bedside table - a cookie. Breaking off a little chunk, he holds it to Seb’s lips, who of course opens obediently. Sebastian is emerging from the depths of subspace just in time to enjoy the chocolate and the brush of Chris’s fingers against his mouth, the softness of the blankets, the warmth of the room.

He reflects on the day, on the shoot, the sex, there’s so much to process he has no idea why he says, “You know how to fight.” Surprised.

“I...what?”

“With Robert. With me. You know how to fight.”

“Sure. We trained choreo with Mackie.” He pops another bite into Seb’s mouth.

“No. I mean, yeah, but that’s not...you’ve been in fights. I can tell by your stance, your reactions…”

Chris shifts uncomfortably. “Yeah. I guess.”

Sebastian watches Chris’s face carefully before finally saying, “You’re not the golden boy everyone thinks you are, are you?” Chris stiffens. “You’re more.” Blue eyes lock with Seb’s, surprised. Grateful. “All that intelligence comes from experience. You don’t get smart about the world without feeling it, do you? And you’ve been through it.”

“So’ve you,” Chris acknowledges quietly and Sebastian shrugs.

“Yeah.”

“What happened to you?”

Seb shrugs. “Never belonging anywhere has it’s price.”

Sadly, Chris replies, “Belonging everywhere does too.”

Sebastian reaches over, breaks off a bit of cookie and holds it to Chris’s mouth. Chris accepts it, nipping playfully at Seb’s fingers as he does, but he looks surprisingly touched by the gesture. Seb bites the last bit of cookie away from Chris’s hand then nudges him over onto his back so he can wriggle into place on Chris’s chest. A deep chuckle reverberates against his ear.

“You just want your hair played with.”

“And you wanna pet me. I fail to see the problem.”

\--

It’s a miracle. Seb’s done with shooting for the day, and it’s three p.m. He’s still on set though, because Chris is working, and for once, Sebastian has time to just watch, curled in a chair to one side of the set and staring intently, unabashedly, because, hey, so is everyone else. It’s a flashback so Chris is dressed down in khaki shorts and a tee, makeup rounding his eyes and pinkening his cheeks, making him look for all the world like a college student.

There’s no joy here though, not in this scene, where his mother dies. Hospital bed, beeping equipment, Sebastian’s spent enough time in rooms just like it to appreciate the accuracy, and the woman playing Steve’s mother is an enchanting actress. Trepidation hovers at the base of Seb’s throat, worried briefly that this scene might be too much to handle.

It’s not unfounded. As the scene unfolds, he watches both actors fall apart over and over with each take, dabbing their eyes, makeup touched up, and then back at it again. The crying is difficult to watch, but what is killing Sebastian, what’s really ripping him apart, is the way Chris quirks his eyebrows up, surprised at the pain, or perhaps its severity, as if to say, “Why me?” It crawls inside Sebastian’s chest and curls up there, acute and stifling, and by the time they finish the scene there’s not a dry eye in the place. It’s still only four thirty, but Atwell lets them go early with soft words to get some rest and show up bright and early. 

Chris doesn't see him, knees to chest in the corner, which is just as well. He can’t speak, and not even for fear of weeping. It’s just that the loneliness he saw in Chris's face during the scene resonates so clearly, profoundly, an echo in his chest. Alone, alone, alone. A million hotels. A barely concealed accent. Friends with benefits, but never partners. 

“You ok?” Mackie.

“Yeah?”

Mack stares incredulously for a long moment, then shoves Seb towards the door. “Come on, asshole. It’s beer o’clock.”

They take a bus to a dive bar Sebastian’s never seen before. Mackie orders five beers, plucks them off the bar with the bottle necks jammed between his fingers, then knees Sebastian to the dartboard in the corner, all without a word. 

“Um,” Sebastian says.

“Best of three gets the extra beer.”

And that’s it. They drink. Mackie shoves him when it’s his turn to throw, and they talk old movies and rival stunt teams. They laugh. Give each other ridiculous nicknames. It’s not until hours and beers later that they finally slump, exhausted, at a booth near the back and Anthony sighs, sliding a shot across the table.

“Ok, man. What’s going on?”

“Nothing? Noroc,” he toasts, Romanian cheers, and knocks the shot back, grimacing.

Mackie follows, plunking the shotglass back to the lacquered tabletop and gritting through clenched jaw, “You’re full of shit. And in love with Chris.”

“No!” Seb protests.

“Yeah. And for some reason, you think it’s not mutual, which is dumb, for the record.”

“Is not.”

“Thought you weren’t in love with him. Gotta make up your mind, Vanilla.”

“Fuck you.”

“You wanna try it in your own words now, or should I keep it up?”

Seb fidgets with a napkin and finally caves. “We met last year on a job. I thought there was something between us, but when the project was over he blew off my calls, never contacted me...and - I...sometimes I think he really cares about me, but he's got this fuckin’ wall up, and besides, you don’t just _ignore_ someone you want around... I don’t know.”

“I met him a few months after you guys wrapped that project. He weighed probably fifteen pounds less than he does now.”

“He’s already too damn thin.”

“Don’t I know it. He wanted to do his own stunts though, told him he had to build back the muscle mass to do it. So he did.”

“Good…” Seb’s not sure where this is going.

“We didn’t talk much, never hit it off like you and I, and I like the guy, you know, but he was fuckin’ angry most of the time. Coping. He’d lost something. Someone. He was grieving. Next project, few months later, he wasn’t quite so volatile. Just quiet. And then a quick job a month or two ago, and he was almost back to normal. Or so I thought. ‘Cept then I saw him with you, and damn, was I wrong.”

“What’dya mean?”

“He laughs.”

“Duh dude, he’s a human being.”

“You know when he throws his head back and really lets go, grabs his chest ‘n’ shit?”

“Yeah?” 

“Never once saw him do that before this project.”

“Maybe he just -”

“Shut up, Sebastian. I’m not interested in your opinion. I’m telling you, the feeling is mutual.”

“And I’m telling you, you’re wrong. We’re sleeping together, Mackie, and I promise you, he’s made no mention of expanding that sex to romance. At all.”

“Maybe he’s scared.”

“Of what?”

Anthony stares. “You really…” Seb can see him give up. “Damn, Stan. You’re kinda fucked aren’t you? What’re you gonna do?” 

“What we’ve been doing. Let him lead, I guess. Beggars can’t be choosers.”

Mackie shrugs. “You're wrong, for the record, but it’s your boyfriend situation.”

“He’s not my boyfriend.”

“Hey, I said situation.”

“Fuck you.”

“I will not be a replacement for your unrequited love!” he protests dramatically and Seb chuckles. 

“Get up, dumbass, so I can kick your ass in darts again.”

“You’re on.”

\--

Sebastian’s been dressed and ready on set for a half hour when AJ and Chris finally show up. Laughing.

“No, he didn’t!” Chris gasps gleefully, grasping his chest with one hand.

“I’m telling you, man, he got in and out without anyone noticing. They had to scrap the damn car.”

“Holy shit, that’s amazing. But you remember Natalie, and she’d pull that shit all the time and they never said anything.”

“Oh my god, Natalie! How is she? I haven’t seen her since the Globes.”

It’s AJ, painfully enough, who greets him first. “Sebastian!” All three of them have ash and blood on their faces, make up for the scene they're shooting, and the sight of a wound, even imaginary, anywhere on Chris has Seb tense.

“AJ.” He nods curtly, irritated and unsure why. _Get it together, Seb_. “Chris.”

“Where’ve you been?” Chris asks quietly, too casual with hands shoved defensively in pockets as AJ steps away to talk to the director. 

“Here?” He’s confused. “Or do you mean yesterday? Went out for drinks with Mackie. Why?”

Chris shrugs. “No reason. I just would’ve thought you’d respond to my -”

“Man, I’m excited to see this dive Mackie was telling me about,” AJ interrupts, swaggering back, and Sebastian is about reply when he adds. “Lucky we’ve all got our skills, huh? We can act, you can hurl your body through the air without dying...” It’s probably just his imagination but the comment reads as dismissive somehow, and Seb’s cheeks burn with shame. 

He’s right, though. They’re all here to do a job. They all have a place. AJ and Chris’s conversation highlights the fact, discussing actors on other productions, awards shows and afterparties, while Sebastian still flies coach.

“Yeah,” he mumbles, looking down. “Well. I guess I’ll see you out there.”

Chris says his name, but Seb’s put enough distance between them to get away with pretending he didn’t hear.

Mackie shows up shortly after, choosing to stand next to Sebastian while he stretches with Jake instead of talking to the crew, and that settles Seb considerably. He doesn’t notice his hand creeping up to touch the mark Chris left, carefully hidden beneath Zariya’s thorough concealing.

“You ready, man?”

“Definitely.” More than. He needs a good distraction. 

“Be careful today,” Mackie adds. 

“Of course.”

“No, not of course. You’re an idiot when you’re upset, and you’re a show off for Chris, and I’m out of a job if I let you paralyze your dumb ass, so stay focused.”

Thank god Atwell interrupts because Sebastian’s going red in the face trying to defend himself against Mackie’s completely true and accurate allegations. “Alright boys, let’s head out!”

It’s hot as fuck. Hotter. Sebastian’s grateful that wardrobe is just jeans and a tee today - he’d’ve drowned in a suit. They work double time, Chris and AJ shooting the scene on the roof while Seb and some crew stand to the side discussing the parameters of the jump. Mackie dips out to check the landing pad and set up, and in the downtime Seb watches the scene.

“What the fuck? It was supposed to be a _safe_ house, Steve!”

“I’m sorry!” Chris shouts over to-be-added-later gunshots, and the panic in his voice makes Seb’s chest tight. “Someone must’ve compromised our position!”

AJ rolls his eyes. “No shit. Someone like you?”

Seb frowns. AJ sounds cool, irked, but Bucky...Bucky’s heart would be breaking. Bucky would sound scathing and furious to cover the kind of fear born of letting yourself want something for once.

“No! Buck, I would never -”

A PA fires a prop gun to signal the shot that’s AJ’s cue to sprint to the edge of the roof and Seb watches carefully in order to mimic the movement accurately later.

AJ glances down over the ledge, fear plain on his face as the cameras zoom in, but that’s wrong too. Buck’s not scared of the jump, he’s scared of losing Steve, and he wouldn’t be broadcasting it for the world to see. He’d be hiding.

“They’re coming after us.”

“I know,” Chris says so softly Seb wonders if the mics even picked it up. 

“They’ll kill us.”

“I know.”

“Can’t let that happen Stevie.”

Suspiciously Chris asks, “What’re you gonna do?”

“Irrelevant. It’s what you’re gonna do that counts. Use the first blast as cover to get to the garage. There’s a One-77 down there, black. You take it, and you get the fuck out, to the address programed in the GPS under ‘Auntie’s’. Got it? 

“Blast? What - Buck -”

AJ steps in and grabs him by the back of the head, kissing him fiercely.

At least he gets that right.

Sebastian’s suffering a heart attack and turns away to glance over the edge at the mat settled on the asphalt, stories below in a desperate attempt at focus. Fuck. Focus Seb.

“Steve?”

“Hmm?” Chris pants, and Seb is both deliriously happy and exquisitely pained that he knows that sound first hand. Doesn’t help that Chris’s lips are a little red from the kiss.

“If we live through this, could I buy you a drink?”

Chris’s - Steve’s - response is perfect. “Then you better not fucking die.”

AJ grins roguishly. Wrong. Seb wants to punch him.

“Aaaand cut!” Atwell calls.

“Cut the check!” 

Sebastian giggles at Mackie scampering up the ladder and back onto the roof, and even Atwell’s smiling through an eyeroll. “Shut up Mackie. Alright Seb, I’m gonna have you do a take from the gunshot cue and then we’ll get the jump.”

“Sounds good.”

In Sebastian’s experience, actors usually stick around when their doubles do reshoots to give advice or to model a specific movement, and he’s glad. Maybe he can teach AJ a thing or two about Bucky Barnes. When he glances around after the crew gets reset though, AJ is nowhere to be found.

“You ready?” Chris asks as they take their marks.

“Always.” He hopes the smile doesn’t look as much like a grimace as it feels. Apparently he’s unsuccessful because Chris turns to face him looking weary and worried. “Sebastian -”

“Action!”

The shot rings out and they both startle, providing a convincing start for Seb’s sprint to the edge of the roof. The cameras zoom in, but he barely notices, sinking into the part.

Bucky’s sad and scared and tired of running and can never, ever let on, so Seb keeps his face calculating and professional, hoping the vulnerability shows through.

“They’re coming after us.”

“I know.” Chris is close, past his mark, but Atwell doesn’t stop them.

“They’ll kill us.”

“I know.” He sounds exhausted and Seb just wants to ease his mind, give him some peace for once.

With a weary smile he says, “Can’t let that happen Stevie.”

“What’re you gonna do?” Immediately Chris’s body language shifts from defensive to offensive, not to protect himself from Bucky, Seb realizes, but to stop him.

“Irrelevant. It’s what you’re gonna do that counts. Use the first blast as cover to get to the garage. There’s a One-77 down there, black. You take it, and you get the fuck out, to the address programed in the GPS under ‘Auntie’s’. You got it?” The urgency to keep him safe echoes in his voice and it’s too much emotion, he’ll give himself away, but he’s not Seb now, he’s Bucky, and Bucky’s _allowed_ to love the man standing across from him.

“Blast? What are you - Buck -”

Roughly, maintaining awareness of the injuries Buck incurred in the previous scene, Sebastian yanks him forward by the neck and kisses him. It’s not pretty or sweet, but it’s real, two men who might’ve never met, who might’ve killed each other, who might die before they ever get a chance, and the only reason Bucky breaks the kiss is the knowledge of impending danger. He’d’ve gone on forever if he could.

Scuffed and dirty, Chris has perfected Steve’s look of awe and joy, even behind stress, beautiful and real and Seb breathes, “Steve...”

“What?” he gasps back.

“If we live through this, could I buy you a drink?” It feels good to say, even as a lie.

Chris snarls, the doe-eyed shock of the kiss swallowed by fear masquerading as anger, gripping Seb’s jaw in one hand and his hair in the other, holding him tight - a promise, a prayer. “Then don’t you dare fucking die.” He pulls Sebastian in for another kiss, brief, too brief, before relinquishing him, and Seb feels the loss like a wound but he lets the corner of his mouth drift up, an attempt at comfort as he squeezes the detonator in his pocket. The crack rings across the roof followed by smoke and Seb shouts, “Go!” as he hops up on the ledge, but Chris doesn’t listen. “Now, Steve!” Still a pause, and Seb watches as if in a lucid dream as Bucky allows himself the ultimate weakness to protect the man he loves. “Please!” he roars, and clocks the landing pad below before glancing back once more, making sure Chris is running, that the cameras are where they need to be, and he jumps.

It’s a relief, honestly, to be falling away after the clusterfuck up there. The crash pad looks weirdly low for some reason, but fall is only a few stories, and he flips himself to land on his back, distributing the weight and bracing for impact. 3 - 2 - 1 - 

“What the fuck!?” screams Mackie.


	4. Chapter 4

There’s a firefight beneath his skull and his back twinges, not muscle, more like the day after a cannonball turned belly flop, skin pulled wrong.

“You’re up!” Mackie says, way too loudly. 

“No I’m not.”

“Gotta tell that boyfriend of yours, he’s been worried sick.”

“Don’t have a boyfriend.”

In the background he hears Mackie mutter, “Yeah ya do,” but then Seb falls back asleep.

\--

“I’m fine,” Seb gripes for the fifth time in as many minutes. “Want a cartwheel? A handstand? The alphabet backwards?” Two heads snap towards him as Atwell and Mackie grunt in unison, “Shut up, Seb.”

“What? I just…” he trails off, but they’re already back into the conversation, something about lawsuits and flight risks, and he’s not really paying attention. He’s been tooling around on his phone for the past hour, fidgety and eager to get back to work. The concussion’s left him fuzzy, but it’s improved so drastically between yesterday and today that he’s not particularly worried. It’s not until he catches the ass end of a coment from Mackie that Seb tunes back in. “I don’t care he’s famous, that shit almost got Seb killed.”

“Wait, what?”

“You haven’t been listening to a single word of this, have you?” Mackie comments, shaking his head at Seb’s shrug. “It wasn’t a bad landing, Seb, AJ fucked with the mat.”

“Why?” He’s bewildered. It seems like a lot of trouble to go through for some nobody.

Atwell sighs. “I dunno. Stupidity? Jealousy?”

Seb laughs incredulously. “Jealous? Of what?”

“You’re a better actor, a better professional, a better man than he’ll ever be,” Chris says quietly from the doorway of Seb’s hospital room. Pleased, Seb turns to greet him, but his face falls immediately. 

“What happened to your face?”

“Should you be moving around?” Chris counters, ignoring his question, and Sebastian hadn’t even realized he’d stood but figures while he’s up he might as well check in, brushing a fingertip over the split in Chris’s brow, the pad of his thumb along the top of Chris’s cheekbone where a shiner is blooming. 

“I’m fine, Chris.”

“Actually, Mr. Stan,” the doctor says from over Chris’s shoulder and they shift to let him in the room. “I’m going to need you not to be alone for the next few days. Lots of water, ibuprofen if you need, no excessive activity for at least a week.”

“A week!” Seb exclaims, “I can’t do that, man. Excessive activity is my job.”

“Only part of it now, actually,” Atwell murmurs.

“Huh?” He whips around distractedly and his vision blurs. “Whoa.”

Chris’s arm is warm around him. “Easy.”

“How would you feel about taking AJ’s place?” 

“Sorry?”

“We need a new James Barnes. You want the gig?”

His heart stumbles. “I’m a stunt guy, Hayley.”

“You are. And a better actor than many I’ve directed. Besides, you are Chris together are...movie magic. I’d be an idiot not to use you.”

Holy shit. “...Are you sure?”

“One hundred percent.”

“Yes.” He’s grinning, he can tell. “Yes yes yes. Please. Yes.”

“Good. I’ll get in touch with Hank, rewrite your contract.”

Chris murmurs, “Who’s Hank?” 

“My agent,” Seb responds, confused. Hank’s been his agent for...well, only a year, he realizes, but Chris doesn’t know what happened with Quinlan, and it’s going to fucking stay that way. “Thank you for the opportunity,” he says to Atwell. “I won’t let you down.”

“I know it, Sebastian. Now. Who’s gonna stay with you?”

“Oh. I’m...really I’m fine, it’s -”

“He’s coming with me,” Chris says, and it’s lucky his arm is still around Seb’s waist because he’s using his Dom voice, not that anyone else would notice, and it has Sebastian disturbingly weak-kneed.

“Great. Alright. I’ll email the two of you with details for the week, but for tomorrow, both of you _take the damn day off.”_

\--

Seb still feels a bit like he’s moving through haze, but Chris’s hand at the base of his spine keeps him grounded enough to return the doorman’s smile as the guy says, “Glad to see you’re feeling better, sir.”

“Oh! Thank you.” 

“Of course. Mr. Evans, there’s a package for you in the mailroom.”

Chris looks supremely irritated at the interruption, but Seb nudges him that direction. “Go on. I’m not an invalid you know.”

“I know, Sebastian,” he says quietly, and the use of his name, rich and comforting, wraps around him like an embrace.

“You’ve done a number on him,” the doorman murmurs as they watch Chris disappear behind the swinging door.

“What’dya mean?”

The guy shrugs. “He’s been here for almost a year, always real reserved, and now he won’t stop smiling. When you got hurt though...I’ll admit, I was worried.”

“Why?” Seb whispers, unsure of his voice.

“He left yesterday in a real fucking hurry...I mean talking to himself - crazy, no offense, sir, and when he came back he looked settled, but he was beat to shit, ‘scuse the language. He looks better now though. With you,” he adds thoughtfully, and Seb clenches his fist, cursing his foggy brain. There’s something here, something important, but his brain’s functioning in broken segments, thoughts with brief half-lives, and he’s exhausted with wondering by the time Chris strides back with a box tucked under one arm. 

“Thanks Jeremy. Have a good night. How you feelin’?” he asks cautiously as they stop into the elevator. “And if you say ‘fine’ so help me god, Sebastian.” 

“You’re saying my name and awful lot,” he observes and Chris blushes.

“Would you like me to stop?”

“No.” He loves it.

“Good. Now. You. Pain? Dizziness?”

Seb raises and lowers a shoulder. 

“Answer me, Sebastian.”

“Shit.” 

The shiver wracks his whole body and Chris corners him immediately. “What’s wrong?” he demands and Seb hollers, “Nothing! I have a headache and I’m a little fuzzy, but you keep Dom-voicing me and what little focus I have left is diverted straight from my brain into my dick!”

Chris’s shocked expression dissolves into fond amusement. “That effective, huh?” The doors slide open, and unlocking the apartment he adds, “Does that mean I can order you around?”

“Shut up,” Seb mutters. 

He’s wiped. Tries to hide it when Chris comes in to brush his teeth next to him, hip to hip at the sink, but he can’t quite stifle the yawn so large it squishes his eyes closed, and he sways against the counter as balance escapes him. Chris, bless him, manages not to ask ‘are you ok’ again, instead frowning and murmuring, “When you’re done, get in bed. I’ll bring you some water and painkillers.”

“Don’t you mean, get in couch?” Seb jokes, spitting toothpaste into the sink.

“No. Bed.”

“Chris. You don’t have to give me your -”

“Shut up.”

He does as he’s told, for once, and heads to the bedroom, but the sight from the doorway paralyzes him. Chris’s room is a wreck, shit knocked off his desk and dresser, clothes everywhere, and the tee shirt in the corner -

“Is there blood on that?” Seb demands as Chris enters with water and a bottle of pills, clocks the shirt, and hurriedly kicks it beneath a pair of jeans as if that’ll magically erase the stains, or Seb’s memory.

“Bed,” he says shortly, gesturing with the water bottle. 

“Nu-uh. You first. What happened to you? Jeremy said you freaked out...came back fucked up…”

“I’ll tell you if you get into bed.”

“Chris…”

“Sebastian…”

“You’re fucking infuriating, you know.”

He thinks he’s teasing but Chris murmurs, “I know,” suddenly tired. Seb’s heart breaks at being the cause, and he steps up into Chris’s space to kiss him softly. It’s meant to be an apology, a thank you, but Chris makes a choked little noise and when Seb tries to pull away Chris chases his mouth. It’s sweet, gentle, too much tension for the silence of the room. 

“Sorry,” he whispers.

“For what?” Chris has a hand on his cheek, blue eyes examining him, confused.

“For this mess. For...imposing. I mean, thank you for offering, but you shouldn’t’ve had to -”

Unnerved, Chris shakes his head. “Seb, stop. No. I...I want you here. I always want you here,” he adds, small and exhausted and Sebastian just can’t anymore. He takes the water and the pills and downs them, then goes to the bed and straightens the pile of blankets, very bachelor pad, folding the layer back. “In.”

“Bed? I told you -”

“I know.” He crawls in and tosses his phone on the nightstand, and off course goes off as soon as it touches the wood. “Will you stay? With me?”

“If you want,” Chris breathes.

“Please,” he replies, and swipes open the text from Mackie. It’s a mugshot. Of AJ. With a fat lip, a black eye, and a swollen, suspiciously crooked nose. The text reads ~courtesy of your bf.

Sebastian watches as Chris sheds his jeans, turns off the light, slips beneath the comforter, and the very second he’s settled, Seb curls up in his arms, sighing as the weight and heat and Chris-ness calms him truly for the first time in days. 

“You didn’t have to do that for me,” Seb whispers.

“I wanna keep an eye on you.” Chris thinks he’s talking about letting him stay.

“You fucked AJ up.”

The silence is suspiciously long, and Sebastian feels Chris shake his head and the sigh echoes against his cheek. “I can’t…” It sounds like he’s going to cry, the immovable, unflappable Chris Evans, and panicked, Seb says, “You don’t have to explain if you don’t want to.”

Chris’s heart is racing, Seb can hear it, but his is too, pattering frantically, trapped behind his ribs. “I knew he was shady. And instead of calling him out, I let him stay and he...he could’ve gotten you killed. He’s gonna get off with a slap on the wrist, nothing, and I couldn’t...couldn’t let him… _fuck_...”

The shudder that wracks Chris’s body is clearly unintentional, emotion working it’s way out of his bones and into the air; he cares so much that words have stopped working and Sebastian supposes it makes sense. Chris is lovely and kind, and Seb is his sub, perhaps it’s an ownership thing - control - even if Sebastian’s just some kid who still barely remembers which fucking language he’s supposed to speak, and Chris is an actual movie star. 

Chest aching, Seb leans up, brushing gentle lips across the cut in his brow, a scrape on the bridge of his nose, then ever so softly over the lid of the eye hosting the shiner, and the skin there feels like silk, like cream. Chris’s breath shivers out of him and his hands come up to frame Seb’s face, staring. For a moment the air shifts, almost like subspace but hyper aware instead of submerged. Seb can see the azure starburst pattern of Chris’s eyes, and the light freckles on his nose and sweet, sad half-smile. “I’m glad it was you,” he whispers. “To come and get me. That found me at the club. That came up to me two years ago on that random set and asked if I’d like some coffee. I’m glad it was you.”

“Sebastian,” Chris sighs happily, and kisses him so roughly Seb thinks he might have reopened the split on his lip, but he doesn’t seem to notice. “Me too.”

\--

“What are you doing?” Chris growls. Sebastian’s not sure that was the intended tone, but it’s so early they both sound like sandpaper. It's pleasant regardless. 

“Breakfast.”

“You should be resting.”

“I’m so rested I’m crawling out of my skin. Pancakes or waffles?”

Chris eyes him suspiciously before conceding, “Pancakes please.”

“So polite.”

“Fuck you.”

“There he is. Coffee’s done.”

“Sweet merciful Jesus.”

“Never been called that one before but there’s a first time for everything, I suppose.”

“Smartass.”

On his way to grab a mug, Chris hesitates as he passes Sebastian, then backtracks a step and wraps a possessive hand around his neck, pulling him in for a kiss at the temple. Seb closes his eyes and tries not to lean into it too obviously.

“You excited about taking on Barnes?” Chris mutters, preparing his coffee.

“Fuck yes.” The batter is finally smooth enough to pour, and Seb cleans the sides of the bowl with a spatula and heats up another pan for bacon.

“Why?”

Seb shrugs. “I...get him. I like him. He’s an asshole, arrogant, but he wants things so badly. Wants Steve to be safe, to be his. Wants to believe in what he’s fighting for. AJ was playing that shit all wrong. Bucky’s not afraid of anyone in the world except for Steve.”

“Why?” The air before the word crackles with excitement reflected in Chris’s eyes. He loves talking about his craft. Turns out, Seb does too. 

“Because Steve makes him want.”

“‘S a dangerous feeling.”

“It is.” Too heavy, too close. “What’s Steve’s thing?” 

“He’s hopeful,” Chris offers, leaning in. “And terrified of it. Steve wants to do his job, wants justice served, but he wants Bucky more than anything. I think it’s hard for him to keep watching Bucky leave again and again, and...I think he feels guilty.”

“Guilty? Why?” Seb murmurs as he checks the heat on the skillet. 

“Could’ve killed him.”

“Sure. And Buck could’ve killed Steve. They were each other’s missions.”

“Right, but that doesn’t change anything.”

“Oh, of course, fuck logic.”

Chris chuckles. “I didn’t say it was logical. I’m just explaining how he feels.” 

Seb’s opened and shut three different completely empty drawers in search of something to flip the pancakes with, and huffs irritably as something Jeremy said the previous night sinks in. 

“Hey. You live here.”

“No shit, Sherlock.”

“Jeremy said for a whole year.”

“Ok…”

“You ever think about...uh...I dunno...MOVING IN?”

“I am moved in.” 

“You don’t even have utensils.”

“Sure I do,” he protests, gesturing to the box of plastic cutlery on top of the fridge. Seb gives him a dry look and he shifts uncomfortably. “Been busy.” Quiet. Sad. “Besides. It’s just...just me,” he adds hurriedly after a pause. “Who cares?”

“I do.” Seb’s reply surprises them both and the air in the kitchen into stillness. 

“Why?” Chris breathes and Sebastian holds eye contact, searching for an answer for longer than is socially acceptable, then shrugs and returns his attention to the pancakes. What’s he supposed to say?

“You’re my friend, Chris. I want you to be comfortable.” 

“I’m fine, Seb.” A shift in posture, hardened tone. A door closed in his face.

When Sebastian was small, his father had read him a book called A Wrinkle In Time about space and power and kids just like him, and the evil thing in the book often manifested itself as a shadow hovering over skies and stars and planets. The thought had haunted his childhood, an awareness of distance that children shouldn’t feel, between grownups who were supposed to love each other, kids who were supposed to be friends...He feels it now, a shadow separating he and Chris. For him it’s a void built on the year of radio silence, and for Chris...well, there’s no way of knowing, but Seb feels it acutely, worse than a concussion.

He plates a few pancakes and slides them onto the table in front of Chris without a word and thankfully, his cell goes off.

“Sup, Mack-attack?”

“How’s that Sexy Seabass head of yours?”

“Full of razor sharp and completely work-inappropriate comebacks, so keep it quick.”

“Whoa, am I interrupting something?” he teases and Sebastian’s not sure what that’s about.

“No…? Did you just call to harass me?”

“Mostly. And to tell you to check your email. You’ve got an updated schedule, and also, not that you heard this from me, but a handsome increase in salary, so you can buy me a new car any day now.”

“Ah. Yes. Right on that sir.” Chris spanks him. Hard. “Ah! What the - I’ll check it out, man, I gotta go.”

“Get that ass.”

“What?” Seb honest to god looks at the receiver like it’ll have answers for him but Mackie’s already gone, so he turns to Chris instead to find him looking mutinous.“What was that for?”

“You ever call anyone else ‘sir’ again, I’ll spank you within an inch of your life and you won’t be able to sit for a month without thinking of me.” 

“Oh,” he gasps, flushing. He’s not sure how to tell Chris that sounds perfect without begging, and he has a feeling Chris won’t fuck him when he’s recovering from a head injury, so best leave that one alone. “Noted.”

When Sebastian’s brain starts working again, he checks his email on Chris’s computer. Rehearsals, workouts, but nothing for a few days. The renewed contract is attached, and Seb whistles at the salary increase. He’s got plans for that money.

\--

“You’re alive!” Mackie shouts, and pounces on him. 

“So they tell me,” Seb chuckles. “What’re you doing here? We’re not shooting today.”

“Just wanted to check on ya. You’re a mess.”

“Christ, don’t I know it.”

“How’s living with Evans been?” 

“Is that what this is about?”

“Among other things.”

He sighs as Mackie follows him into his trailer. “Good, actually. Fun.”

“It’s not killing you softly?”

“Oh, it is. That, too.”

“Seb…”

“Leave it alone, Mack. I gotta get to rehearsal.” He elbows his friend in the ribs. “I’m a big important actor now, you know.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. How would you feel about workin’ back into training tomorrow?” 

“Awesome. I feel fine.”

“Well I’m not taking it too far, at least not yet. We’ll see after your scan at the end of the week.”

“Worry-wart.”

“Hey, I just don’t want your boyfriend coming after me if you pass out or some shit.”

“Shut up. Not my boyfriend. Also. I need your help with something.”

\--

He meets Atwell, Chris, and Robert on set, and they get to work showing Seb the blocking for the scenes to be shot the following week. It’s so incredibly stimulating Sebastian forgets to be nervous.

He’s read about flow - where ability meets interest and time just flows by you - and he’s felt it training before, but this, today, is a whole new experience. Shockingly, he’s good at it. Good at remembering the sequences, good at reacting to the other actors, good at angling towards the camera. Atwell makes half a dozen comments of praise within the first hour. Sebastian can’t stop blushing, and Chris looks so proud.

In a stroke of miraculous luck, Chris has to stay for much longer than Sebastian, so Seb grabs a cab, first to his own apartment to grab a few things, and then back to Chris’s where he spends an hour with a tape measure and post-it notes. From a nest on the couch he visits the necessary websites. Makes some calls. Double checks the colors and styles of Chris’s clothes and the few items in the apartment. He passes out on the couch and wakes up in bed, curled up next to a warm, strong, body. 

Day two goes well, and Seb breezes through the workout Mackie gives him. 

He’s read the whole script a few times now, and thinks he’s getting ahold of most of the blocking.

The text notification about arrival times comes in over dinner that night. He texts Mackie the details.

“I’ll let ‘em in, man, but I’m not getting my ass beat.”

“I’ll take care of it. Thanks Anthony.”

Jeremy is the easiest to convince. He looks positively delighted.

He and Chris share the cab on the way home the next night. Seb’s silly with nerves, but he manages to attempt clarification as they trudge up the stairs. 

“So...I got you...a few things.”

Chris glances over his shoulder. “What kinda things?”

“I’ll show you?”

He’s suddenly profoundly apprehensive. What if Chris doesn’t like it? What if he’s mad? Maybe he should’ve asked first -

“Seb?”

“Look. There’s a bunch of stuff, and Anthony and Jeremy helped, and I know you said it’s fine but it’s not, Chris, you deserve to have...I dunno...stuff that makes your life easier. I want you to be comfortable and happy and -”

“Sebastian. Breathe. Explain. But breathe first.”

“Let’s just…” He lets Chris open the apartment door, and the first few items are already obvious. 

“Did you get this?” Chris exclaims, gleefully eyeing the leather armchair situated adjacent to the couch. It goes weirdly well with the blue of the couch and the dark wood furniture, but it’s not matchy-matchy, and Seb thinks it looks perfect. “And this…” he exhales.

There’s artwork, a photograph hung above the couch now, a vibrant rectangle framing the room in warmth, and Chris gapes at it before whirling around and gasping at Seb, “It’s Boston Harbor.”

“It’s Boston Harbor,” Seb nods. “Friend of mine works at a gallery. He gave me some advice.”

“Seb it’s -” He whips back and forth between Sebastian and the photo. “Amazing. Thank you. Why -?”

“Don’t thank me yet. Lemme show you the rest.”

“The...rest?”

“Yeah. Ok. Here we go.” Steadying himself, he takes off toward the kitchen. “So. The chair and the photo, just to fill out that room, by the way, could you be more of a bro, you only have one towel but you have an entertainment center? Anyway. Cutlery! In a drawer! Plus, some other utensils, look at you, you’re a person now! Bathroom,” he heads that way. “Bath mat, real shower curtain, towels! As in, more than one! Yay! And last but not least, bedroom.” Chris skids to a halt behind him. “This isn’t...I dunno...it’s probably stupid…” but Chris is already walking past, towards the bed, hand outstretched reverently. 

“Sebastian. What is this?”

“A comforter,” he says to his hands where they’re wringing themselves out in front of him. “My...uh...my ma...Jesus Christ. My ma made it for me when I was a kid. It’s been at my parents’ for years, in my old room, I never use it, but I thought...it meant home to me, and I want you to feel at home in your own space.”

Chris is lovingly fingering the stitching around the edge, holding together panels of midnight blue and marbled black and white, as if it’s something precious, beyond value, then turns back to Sebastian, eyes shining and murmurs, “Move in with me.”

“What? No, that’s not what this was about - wait, why?” 

“Because you’re never at your place anyway, and you made this apartment a home even before all this, and because I want you to. I want you here. Please, Sebastian.” His trademark calm is nowhere to be seen, replaced by wide eyes and evident nervousness and Sebastian lunges forward into his arms. He noses into Chris’s neck, trying to slide himself as puzzle-piece close as he can, and it feels so fucking good he finally breathes again.

“Yeah. Ok.”

\--

Chris finds the last present the next morning wrapped in blue paper and simple bow, on the dresser. 

“Seb, you can’t possibly be giving me more gifts.”

“This one’s for both of us,” he mumbles amiably around his toothbrush and heads back to the bathroom to spit. The crinkling of paper echoes down the short hall and he grins to himself, apprehensive and eager as he splashes cool water over his face.

He hears Chris come into the bathroom, but doesn’t expect to have his hands jerked out from in front of him and his wrists crossed roughly behind his back. “Very forward thinking of you,” Chris growls, using a length of his gift, a set of blue, silk ropes, to bind Seb quickly around the upper arms and then the wrists. He moves with breathtaking efficiency, testing the knots. It’s beautiful - artful fabric crisscrossing his skin, and Seb likes the way he looks like this, likes the lines of muscle in his arms and the blue holding them steady, and he lets out small groan on the edge of a shaky breath. “You look beautiful, Sebastian.”

“Thank you, Sir.”

He watches, heat flooding his skin, as Chris unbuttons Seb’s jeans and slides them and his boxers down, freeing his cock, already hardening, to the cool morning air. One strong, tan hand then creeps up and presses his sternum, smashing their bodies together more tightly before continuing on to circle Sebastian’s throat lightly. He whimpers and the pressure increases.

The other hand slides down from where it’s resting against Sebastian’s stomach to slick over his cock, and it’s a good thing Chris’s is holding him standing, because he’s rapidly losing the ability to do so on his own. The ropes feel like an embrace, holding him safe and tight enough to let himself go.

“So wet for me already, aren’t you baby?”

He whimpers.

“Feels good doesn’t it?”

“Yes, Sir.” 

“Watch, Sebastian.”

He does.

He thinks perhaps Chris meant watch the way he’s stroking him, which is masterful to be sure, and Seb gets good and wound up at that sight, but when Chris makes a little snuffling noise next to his ear, his gaze shoots up first to the hand at his neck, then further still, to Chris’s face.

It’s his undoing.

Chris’s eyes are blazing and dark and his cheeks are red enough to look like he’s getting off too. Though he’s still calm and breathing evenly Seb can feel how hard he is against his ass, grinds back, but Chris chokes him a little - a warning. “Hold still.”

For the stretch of minutes where Chris, too, is watching his hand around Seb’s cock, Sebastian manages to keep his head above water, but when Chris meets his eyes, it all goes to hell in a handbasket. Chris speeds up but neither of them look down again, connected and electric, and as Seb’s balls tighten and Chris surely can feel him pulse in his hand, Chris’s face shifts, begging, wanting so deep and raw that Sebastian can barely breathe to say, “Sir -”

“Come, Seb. Please,” and it’s the ‘please’ that gets him. His head falls back against Chris’s shoulder as his come splatters the bathroom counter.

He can’t move much as the world starts filtering back, but he feels Chris kissing his cheek, his neck, as deft fingers untie his arms. Strong hands massage his limbs where they’be dropped by his side, but neither of them move from where Sebastian is cradled against Chris’s chest. 

“Can I suck you off?” Seb finally manages, aware of the length pressing against him, but Chris shakes his head and his voice is strangely quiet and he murmurs, “No. Later. Alright?”

Seb’s a little hurt, but Chris is wonderful, Chris is magic, Chris must see it in his eyes because he presses another kiss to his cheek and murmurs, “I love your mouth baby, but I’m asking you to wait. Can you be good for me? Patient?”

“Yes, Sir,” he sighs happily.

“If you’re real good, I might even fuck your face.”

“Oh god,” and his knees collapse a little, making Chris smile triumphantly.

“Good boy.”

Warmth. Belonging. Joy that floods his veins and carries something dangerously close to hope right all the way to his heart.

\--

 

“I’m hoping to retire,” Seb says, as Bucky, to the guy playing his handler. “Gonna need a hand getting out.”

“Why?” the dude asks, perfectly skeptical, and Seb shrugs, only letting a fraction of the hope Bucky feels out as a smile as he thinks of Steve. 

“Change in plans.”

\--

“A photo shoot?”

“Yeah.”

“Today?”

“Yeah, sorry about the late notice,” Hayley murmurs, “but there’ve been some scheduling changes...You’ve done a million shoots before, haven’t you?”

Seb shrugs. He’s done some modeling in his day. “Yeah. It’s all good. Does Chris know about this?”

“He will by the time you get there. Get a move on.”

\--

He runs into Chris in the hall outside the dressing room on his way back out to set. “Damn, Evans.” He’s wearing a dark denim jacket, tight, bootcut jeans, and a black tee, and his hair is ruffled, combining sex god with puppy dog and Sebastian tries not to have a heart attack.

Chris gives him an inappropriately suggestive once over. “Back atcha.” Seb knows he looks good in the black skinny jeans, white v-neck, and leather jacket. He shakes his hair back playfully and offers an arm. “Shall we?”

The first set is tons of fun. They flirt with each other and just a little bit with the crew, enough to be obviously kidding but also trying to make the other just a tad jealous. There’s a lot of shoving and a fair amount of hands inside the other’s jacket, or tucked into the other’s pockets. In one frame, Chris stands behind Seb and loops an arm around his waist and the crew goes nuts, spurring on a half hour endeavor of how many different ways to shoot Chris touching Sebastian, and Seb has absolutely no problem with it. 

They run lines while the stylists touch up their makeup, share the remainder of Chris’s coffee, and then head back to their dressing rooms to change for the second round.

It’s been almost too much fun - Chris buoyant and charming, both of them laughing with ease. It’s like before, almost, except for the physical contact which is even better. It makes Seb wonder what a real relationship would be like. Belonging. Going out into the world together and knowing someone has your back. 

He only lets the whiplash of loneliness sit in his chest for a moment.

The second outfit is a little less up his alley, but he thinks he looks alright. Instead of a suit like the ones he wears on set, it’s a tux, all black with a blue undershirt, and he’ll admit it’s cut more flatteringly than his costume, mostly because he doesn’t have to move in this one, and he definitely feels the restricted range of motion. He leaves the tie and top button undone out of habit, and brushing his hair out of his eyes, opens the door, and runs straight into Chris. 

They both freeze. Chris looks...he looks…

He looks like the Dom out of every wet dream Sebastian’s ever had. Impeccably pressed tuxedo, crisp white shirt, skinny black tie in a double windsor, and his hair is parted and neatly swept to one side.

Equally incapacitating is the way he’s looking at Seb, like Sebastian is something delicious to be consumed, or maybe taken apart, put back together, interior examined and assessed. Sebastian makes an embarrassing noise at the thought, and the predatory glare from Chris is suddenly needy and open and he shoves Sebastian back into the dressing room with a forearm and slams the door closed by throwing Seb against it.

The kiss is hungrier than some they’ve had mid-fuck and it leaves Sebastian’s head reeling, even worse when Chris peels back one side of Seb’s lapel and bites a mark into his collarbone, just out of view.

“What,” Seb gasps. “Was that for.”

Chris glares at him, eyes narrowed. “You’re mine.”

“Fuck,” he mutters happily, then more shyly, “Does that mean that you’re…” Strangely, he finds that he can’t finish the sentence. Too vulnerable.

“Does that mean I’m yours?” Chris supplies, dangerously soft, and Seb looks down at his shoes and nods.

Careful fingers tilt his chin up like he’s made of glass, confusingly contradictory to the way Seb’s tailbone aches pleasantly from being thrown against the door, and their eyes meet, ocean and ice.

“Sebastian. Yes. _Yes_ ,” he emphasizes, and kisses him sweetly, opens his mouth to say something more, but there’s a knock on the door and they both jump.

“Mr. Stan? You ready?”

“On my way.”

“Grab Mr. Evans for me, would you?”

“Oh I will,” he replies mischievously, waiting for her footsteps to fade away before grabbing, _carefully_ , to be sure, Chris through his slacks, pleased to find him a little hard. Chris makes a quiet “oof” noise and responds by pinching Seb’s nipple.

“Ah! I was just doing what she asked,” he protests, and Chris grabs him by the hair. “You follow _my_ instructions. Got it, kid?”

“Got it,” he pants, and Chris lets him go, leans in as if to kiss him but at the last second diverts his trajectory to instead open the door. 

“Then get going.”

The rest of the shoot is just as fun, but much less easygoing, partially because Sebastian’s inner monologue is mostly just _”What was that about?_ ”, and partially because the sexual tension has ramped up to eleven. He’s pretty sure the crew notices, and he’s pretty sure they’re egging them on. 

Chris never stops touching him, always at the very least a hand at his hip or shoulders pressed together and Seb feels it like an anchor, holding him together. It’s a real struggle not to get hard, but they do their job, and it feels good to touch Chris in front of people, and to have Chris touch him in return. It’s a lie, but the bruise twinging occasionally on his collarbone whispers that maybe someday it might not have to be.

They change back into their regular clothes and say goodbye to the crew, thanking them for a great day. The production assistant promises to send them the shots they’re thinking of using before the print, and he and Chris head home. 

“That was fun,” he murmurs, letting his body slip across the wall to squish into Chris’s as the elevator nears their floor.

“It was.” He brushes his fingers through Seb’s hair with gentle strokes. “You were fucking incredible.” He stops petting him as the doors slide open and Seb tries not to pout.

“You too. Frustrating, but incredible.”

“Frustrating?”

“You looked fucking edible,” he grumbles, unlocking their door. “I spend the whole time fighting the urge to get on my knees and try’n suck you off through those fucking tux pants.”

Chris’s bag hitting the tile of the foyer then the click of the lock behind them sound far away compared to his voice, low but piercing. “Is that so?”

“Yes,” Seb whispers. 

“Then what’re you waiting for?”

His exhale is quivery with want. “Permission.”

“Christ,” Chris curses. “On your knees, Sebastian.”

He drops like a stone, eyes down, and reflexively puts his hands behind his back. He wants to be used. Useful. Needed.

Chris stands before him and folds his arms. Observing. 

“Such a good boy.” It’s not a question, so Seb doesn’t respond. “I could look at you all day long.” Heat, like embarrassment but pleasurable, floods him. “Gorgeous. Look at me, Sebastian. Tell me what you want.”

“Want your cock.”

“Hmmm, want it where?” He’s being an ass, fucking with Seb in the best way, but Sebastian can play that game. Hell. He invented that game.

“In my mouth.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Wanna get you so wet and slick you could just slide into my ass if you wanted. Want you to push me down on you, hold me there. Wanna choke on you.”

“Jesus,” Chris breathes, unzipping his fly so distractedly Seb wonders if he even knows he’s doing it.

“Want you to use me, Sir, use my mouth to get yourself off. Do what you want with me,” - Ok, this may have backfired, now he’s getting himself worked up. - “Please. Want you to need me. Want you to fuck my mouth, Sir, please, I want you so bad, I’m yours, make me yours, _fuck_ -”

Fortunately for both of them, Chris snaps.

By the time he gets his boxers down, he’s so hard it looks painful. “Color?”

“Green.”

“If you need me to stop?”

“Two fingers.”

“Show me.” 

He does.

Chris gives Seb’s hair one hard yank, then plunges down his throat. 

Immediately, Seb is floating. He’s aroused, but there’s a different priority, he’s being useful, and he dedicates all his focus to that, keeping his jaw loose, throat open, swallowing and humming, and breathing deep through his nose so he can be present and attentive like Chris deserves. 

“Christ, you were made for this, weren’t you?” Chris gasps, pushing back in, and Seb whimpers as his cock twitches against his jeans. “Yeah, so beautiful.”

Spit is leaking out the corners of Seb’s mouth and his eyes are glassy, he can feel it, and it’s magic, he’s real, he’s alive, he wants this forever. Chris is getting close, slamming into him and holding him there for long seconds before pulling all the way out and repeating the process. Closer and closer and the salt of precome mixes in as he says, “You can come when I do.”

The inference is that Seb can take his cock out, can touch himself, but he wasn’t told explicitly, and besides, he’s pretty sure he can come without it, can be good, even better than Chris expects, and as Chris tenses, coming down his throat he discovers he’s right. His own orgasm rips through him with terrifying ferocity, soaking the front of his underwear and sending him right out of his own mind. 

Chris collapses, falls to his own knees panting, and catches Sebastian’s shoulders to keep him from toppling, too. “Did you come?” he gasps. Seb can only nod. “But I didn’t even…”

“You said I could...when you did,” he answers slowly, swimming gradually back to the surface.

“I did,” Chris responds, awed. 

Seb’s lost most of his words, and besides, he feels like the world is golden, sunlight and warmth dripping down his spine, so he just smiles and leans into Chris, nuzzling into his neck. 

“Sebastian…” he murmurs, and Seb kisses his throat and sighs sleepily. “Let’s...uh...it’s time for bed.” 

“I’m incapacitated,” Seb whines, loathe to move, and Chris laughs, wrapping an arm under his shoulders to stand with him. “Come on, love. Bed.”

The word doesn’t quite make it into conscious thought, Seb’s too far gone for that, but it certainly echoes in his dreams. Love.

\--

“Good, Sebastian!” He’s been cleared to train again, and Mackie is not treating him like he’s been out with a head injury. “Again!”

A tumbling pass across the springy floor, head over heels, twice more before Mackie finally lets him get some water.

“Not bad, Vanilla Ice.”

“Look. Mochaccino. I’m a pro. Of course it’s good.”

Anthony chuckles. “You’re in a good mood.”

“Why not? I’m training again, I’ve got a sweet gig -”

“ - A hot boyfriend -”

“I will end you.”

“What? You don’t think he’s hot?”

“His sex appeal is not the issue.”

“What’s the issue then?”

“Why do you care so damn much?” Seb snaps, but Mackie continues, unruffled.

“Because I think you’ve both spent the past year pining for each other and now you’re _literally fucking living together_ and trying to act like it’s just bumpin’ uglies when you’re really in love.

“You don’t ghost someone you love _for a year._ ”

Mackie shrugs, unconvinced. “You ask him about it?”

“No,” Seb replies shortly.

“Then I don’t wanna hear it.”

“You brought it up!”

“Tomato, Tomahto.”

“No one says tomahto.”

“Your mom says tomahto.”

“Your dick says tomahto.”

“English isn’t your first language. How would you know?”

Sebastian punches him hard enough to bruise then dodges away, avoiding retaliation. Avoiding, avoiding, avoiding.


	5. Chapter 5

They film a solid week of scenes where Sebastian and Chris never interact, barely on set at the same time at all. Steve’s avoiding Bucky, worried about putting him in danger, and only looks on from the periphery, making sure Bucky’s not doing anything stupid like getting himself killed.

Bucky’s loneliness is easy to convey.

\--

The couch is not large enough for two grown men, but they stack their limbs and hope for the best. They’ve been watching shit TV for the past few hours, recovering from the long day and catching up on time apart, when Seb finds himself saying, “I like this.”

“Snuggling on the couch? What’s not to like?”

“No,” he chuckles. “I mean, yes, that too, but...I like acting. I like incorporating the physicality of the characters into the story, into their world. I like the emotion and the blocking and the cameras and the way scripts read like novels...I like being a part of the incredible history of cinema. Even if this crashes in the box office, even if I don’t get to do this again, the past few months will still be the best of my life.”

“You’ll do this again.” He sounds so assured.

“I dunno man. I’m kind of a nobody. Not much of a resume as far as acting’s concerned. Hell, even with stunt work, I got - got lucky.” The verbage chokes him up, too similar to the conversation with Quinlan, and suddenly he’s too claustrophobic, has to sit up.

“Seb?”

“Sorry. Just...too warm,” he mumbles, perched on the edge of the couch.

“No, it’s fine. You ok?”

“Yup.”

“You’re a remarkable actor, you know.”

“Ah. Thanks.” He’s a nice guy, Chris Evans. Nice things to say, always. “You too. Amazing, actually,” he adds, coming back to the present. “It means a lot to you.”

Chris nods, rubbing his face and sitting up, giving Sebastian room to breathe. “Yeah. Saved my life, probably.”

“How do you mean?” He watches Chris intently as he answers.

“I dunno, man. There was a lot of...shit...going on in my head and in my life growing up. I always felt like I was going to explode, like there was too much responsibility and not enough time and who did I even want to be? Drugs and friends and fights just...tried to keep myself occupied so I didn’t really go off the deep end, you know?” He’s staring at his hands where they’re linked in front of him, elbows on knees, but Seb knows he’s seeing something else completely. “Anyway. All these people I wanted to be and couldn’t, wouldn’t, all these feelings I didn’t want to have...I could feel ‘em when I was acting. I could laugh and cry and go crazy and then at the end of the day, close the door to my trailer and go home. It...saved my life. What? You look surprised.”

“You just...you seem so put together.”

Chris snorts. “Yeah right.”

“I’m serious.”

He eyes Sebastian thoughtfully. “I guess I am, these days. More or less. I spend a lot of time sorting all that shit out, and I think I did an ok job. The past year was rough, but you’re right, this project has been...amazing. It’s fun. Working with you.”

“Even though I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing?” Seb laughs.

“Why do you keep saying that? You really are an incredible actor, and even before that, your rep as a stunt guy...hell, it was part of the reason I started doing my own.” 

It’s immensely flattering, to think that he might have had some effect on the trajectory of Chris’s life, but there’s also something so obviously unsaid at the end of that thought that it distracts him from what he was going to say, so he just ends up with, “Really?”

“Yeah. Your passion for it is infectious, and besides, it’s kind of like a superpower.”

“Ha. Yeah. I guess. That was part of what I loved about it, I think.”

“What’d you mean?” 

“When I was a kid...man, you had the wrong friends, but I just didn’t have ‘em. Not in a malicious way on their part, I don’t think, at least not when I was younger. I just...didn’t know the language, and I was a dork, into space and old movies and writing, and then I came out in high school, and that just made it harder, but I didn’t know how else to live. I’d been alone for so long that I wasn’t afraid of people ditching me, so in a way I guess I had it better than some.” Chris makes a hurt noise, but Seb ignores him, lost in his own mind now. “But then I started running, just to have something to do, and then gymnastics and lifting and there was a modeling scout at one of my competitions, gave me his card. After a few shoots I met some stunt guys, figured out what they were doing, booked a job as a double on a TV show...it got cancelled after the first season, but an agent - Quinlan, you remember him - noticed me, got me some jobs…Anyway. I had a purpose. A use. It didn’t matter that I was always alone, because I could do things no one else could.” He glances up, finally, and Chris is biting his lip, looking so fucking distraught that Seb legitimately feels bad. “Shit, man, it’s ok.”

“You’re not alone,” he blurts out and Seb smiles, covering Chris’s hand with his own.

“I know, Chris. Thank you.”

“I got you something,” he adds, nervously. “I wasn’t sure when I was gonna...but now...hang on.” He pops up off the couch and bounds away into the bedroom, rustling, then back with a small box in his hand. “It’s,” he breathes. “Dumb. Probably. But.”

“Well let me fucking see it first,” Seb mutters, unable to quash his grin as Chris hands it over.

Inside the box, nestled in black tissue paper, is a thin band of leather, a bracelet, but there’s a buckle on one side and something that looks suspiciously like a D-ring on the other. “Is this a … like a collar?”

“Yeah,” Chris says quickly. “I know it’s kind of...much, and sorry about that, but I figured it was probably too soon for a real collar and besides, you could actually wear this one around, only if you wanted to, of course, but it’d be a reminder that you’re…” He doesn’t finish, hesitant to put words in Seb’s mouth, so he finishes for him.

“That I’m yours.”

“Yeah,” he breathes, looking immensely grateful. “If you want.”

“Chris.” His voice is quivering and he hates it, but the words are more important than his composure. “Thank you. I love it. It’s perfect and -” And he’s going to cry if he keeps going. “Would you put it on?” He holds out both hands, the box in one, and Chris obliges quietly, threading the tiny buckle and situating the leather so the D-ring is on top of his wrist.

Seb attempts to control the trembling of his hands and the fluttering of his eyelids so ferociously that he misses Chris’s fingers shaking just as much.

\--

It’s an interesting experience filming in chronological order. Every once in awhile they have to backtrack, especially because of AJ being recast, but for the most part, they’re progressing through the story with the characters, and today he’s feeling particularly overjoyed about it because he and Chris take out the bad guy.

It’s actually the third day of working the scene due to the sheer number of explosions and gunshots and choreography but Robert is laid out on the cement of the set, dead as a doornail. He keeps opening his eyes to give them shit between takes and Seb gives it right back, though he feels for the guy. Lying dead can be hard on the joints, especially at that angle.

There’s also a strange feeling hovering over the set because they only have a few more weeks of filming, and Sebastian can’t help but be aware of the timeline. On good days he thinks of Chris marking him up, putting him to bed, fastening the collar-bracelet possessively around his wrist. On bad days he thinks of all the ways he’s unworthy of that kind of affection, and shouldn’t blame Chris when he decides enough is enough.

Seb gets his head in the game quickly though because he and Chris haven’t rehearsed this section very thoroughly, and Atwell hasn’t been too adamant about it because it’s so conversation heavy that blocking is less of an issue. He knows the lines, but Chris’s responses will be a surprise.

“You ready, boys?” He gives a thumbs up and grins widely at Chris as they take their places. “Action!”

Seb nudges Robert gently with his toe. “Nice shot.”

“Thanks for setting it up for me.”

Seb sneers down for a moment, allowing Bucky’s anger and fear to leak out across his face. “Good fucking riddance,” and then he and Chris move towards their next mark. “‘S good to see you,” he murmurs, wiping fingertips through the blood on his arm and wincing. “You, uh, disappeared there for a bit.”

“Yeah,” Chris responds, shifting awkwardly. “Busy.”

In reality, the Steve been avoiding Bucky, shadowing him on at least two other missions but never showing himself. Chris hit the nail on the head when he said Steve felt guilty about his potential involvement in getting Bucky killed, and that his presence only brought more confusion and danger into Bucky’s life, which, incidentally, was bullshit. Seb has weirdly strong feelings about this one. 

“Sure,” he responds carefully, obviously disbelieving but hoping for the best for once, because that was Bucky’s development. From hardened cynic into potential optimist. “So, you’re so old this may have slipped your memory -”

“By four years, asshole,” Chris protests and Seb continues with a smile. 

They’ve done a perfect job of timing it, so he can turn right as they hit their mark. “I kept up my end. Didn’t die, right?” he quips, feeling Bucky’s nerves intensely.

“Yeah,” Chris hedges, hesitant, but of course, glad of Bucky’s status as still breathing.

“So?” He jams his hands in his pockets and waits, reflecting on all the scenes they’ve filmed where Bucky waited for Steve, hoped he’d show, made plans for the future, for once. With a hopeful smile, the first real one Buck’s given the whole movie, he offers, “How ‘bout that drink?”

Seb swears he’ll spend the rest of his life trying to figure out how Chris does it, convey a multitude of emotions, a dozen storylines, truths and lies simultaneously in his facial expressions alone, and it’s fucking miraculous to watch - Want and fear and guilt, and the way Steve’s trying to cover it up with nonchalance. 

For all his awareness of incredible acting, the next line feels like a sucker punch to the gut.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

Seb literally stumbles back a step. “Oh.”

Steve looks miserable beneath his confidence. “Thank you, though. For the offer.”

“Right.” A month of no-shows. Seb lets Buck think about how that makes sense now. The feeling isn’t hard to portray. Foolish optimism quashed by abandonment. And the worst part, the very worst, is how Sebastian, no, Bucky had known it was too good to be true, how foolish he felt at being surprised by Chris vanishing from his life. Steve. Like he had the right to expect any different. “Ok.” Another pace away. “Thanks for the help, Rogers.” 

His heart is breaking, and it must show because Chris lurches towards him, concern shaking itself free from the control of Steve’s features. “Buck -”

“Take care of yourself, Steve.” It’s a prayer and a goodbye in one. How convenient. 

“Maybe I’ll see you again,” Chris offers, oddly desperate, but Seb just shakes his head, aching. 

He lets himself look back though, one last time at those beautiful blue eyes, broad shoulders, at the silly boy and brave soldier and proud heart beneath the suit, one last slice off of his soul, and then, “Nah. I don’t think you will.”

“Cut!”

The set comes alive with crew members completing their duties, setting, touch ups, notes, but neither Seb nor Chris move. Frozen. Caught in the scene.

“Alright boys! That’s it for today.”

Chris manages to disengage first, shaking his head to clear it but speaking slow and slurred. “Take two?”

“Nope,” Hayley grins. “That was fucking amazing. I don’t believe in messing with perfection. You’ve got the rest of the day.” 

“Oh. Cool.”

“You ok?” she adds, glancing between the two of them and Seb snaps out of it, completely in character as a normal, happy Sebastian. “Yep! Thanks Hay.”

“Yeah…” she murmurs, watching him go. 

He goes to the gym and runs for an hour. When he gets home, Chris is gone.

\--

The next day they do reshoots and it fucking _sucks_.

It should be easy. All the scenes they’re working Sebastian has done before, though it’s mostly him and not Chris because of the AJ thing. He’s exhausted and grumpy and Chris was weird this morning and he’s weird this morning and nothing’s right. 

There are three scenes to finish. The first one is between Buck and his handler, and it’s fine. He forgets a handful of lines, but Hayley doesn’t even care, barely notices, just gives him what he needs and moves on.

The next one is mostly action, which Seb is initially relieved by, but he loses his footing on one of the jumps and cracks his knee, hard, on the corner of a set piece. It fucking _kills_ , but he keeps to himself about it.

The last scene is between he and Chris, an early one with amiable bickering, but Seb can’t take the edge off his tone. Hayley has to tell him to chill out half a dozen times before Chris steps in.

“Seb.”

“Sorry, sorry, I don’t know where my head is, man. Just...give me a sec.”

“Sebastian.” He looks up and Chris is frowning, worried, but then the expression shifts to cool, to calm, to Dom. “Sebastian, take a deep breath.” Of course, he obeys. “Another.” Another. “You’re doing fine. Tell me.” 

“I’m doing fine.”

“We’re going to do the scene again. Bucky barely knows Steve yet. They think they’re enemies. They’re still confused. Still wrong. But he’s not hurt yet, or angry. Just doing his job. He’s good at his job. Just like you, right Seb?”

“Right,” he breathes.

“Tell me.”

“I’m good at my job.”

“Hayley!” he shouts without looking away. “We’re ready.”

“Alright… Action!”

“What’re you doing here?” Chris grunts.

“I could ask you the same thing.” 

Chris pins him to the wall. “Stay out of this shit, pretty boy.”

Seb smirks, breath coming a bit faster in his throat. “Pretty boy, huh? Says the adonis with a badge.”

Chris blushes. “Shut up.”

“Or what? You gonna make me?” 

Chris’s arm is still across his chest but he leans in, tempting, then, “Nah.” He pushes off the wall. “Next time you come into my territory, you’ll be carried out on a stretcher.”

Seb winks. “Good. I like it rough,” then he takes off across the floor, executing the leap out the window with precision.

“Cut! Good! Thank Christ! You can all head home!”

They catch the same cab out of habit, but Seb doesn’t say a word. He’s furious, with himself of course, for letting this acting shit cross over into his real life and actual emotions, for doing so poorly today, for letting down Chris, and Hayley. He’s tired, and that’s not helping.

“You good?”

“Yeah,” he replies absently, kicking off his sneakers. He should look over the script tonight, make sure there’s not a repeat performance of today, then dismisses it. He knows the fucking script forward and backward. That’s not the issue. 

“You sure?”

“Yup.” Water. He should drink some water and then go to bed before he does something stupid.

“Sebastian.” He doesn’t stop chugging but he does turn his head to look at Chris as he guzzles. “Everyone has rough days you know.”

“I know,” Seb gasps as he finishes the water. 

“So why -”

“Said I’m fine.”

“Yeah, but you’re not.”

“What’d you care!” Seb shouts. For a moment he’s stricken by the hurt on Chris’s face, but the coolness that sweeps in behind it is all Dom, all control.

“Go strip and get in bed.”

Seb’s still frustrated and confused, but he goes.

When Chris enters, rope in hand, he’s barefoot and shirtless, and Seb almost whimpers at the sight. With efficiency that would inspire jealousy if Seb could think straight, Chris flips him onto his stomach and ties each of his limbs to the closest corner of the bed by the frame the stands back to admire his work. 

“That’s some attitude you’ve got there, baby.” Seb stays silent, not trusting himself to respond civilly. “And your performance at work today was not your best.” Sebastian tries to curl in on himself in embarrassment, but Chris continues talking as he goes to the closet. “What do you think I should do about that, sweet boy?”

“Punish me,” Seb mumbles, obligatory at first then realizes - that’s exactly what he wants. He needs to be forgiven for his fuck up today, and Chris knew it before he did. He watches his Dom out of the corner of his eye, emerging from the closet with two canes in hand - one appears lighter, rattan, and the other, a darker wood, heavier. “Fuck.”

Canes are only for very experienced Doms, and Chris takes the utmost care with Sebastian, which means that he’s not only been Domming for awhile, but he’s well trained. For a moment Sebastian lets his mind wander...Chris practicing, training with another Dom, trying out softer or harder strokes with a sub, a woman perhaps, watching the welts bloom like flowers…

The tip of the lighter one runs down his spine and he gasps. “You’ll take what I give you. Understand, Sebastian?”

“Yes, Sir.” 

Closer. Sweeter. “Color?”

“Green.”

There’s a soft sound, the heavier cane, Seb thinks, cracking across his ass and he groans. The heavy ones have less sting, more impact, like the way someone’s fist might hit your ass while fingering you nice and rough. A gentle brush, then another thud. 

“Jesus,” he breathes. Already, his mind is calming. Another.

Chris takes him apart with the heavier cane first, making the muscles of his legs and ass and shoulders ache beautifully. He paces around the bed, checking restraints, brushing Sebastian’s hair from his eyes, changing the angle of the blows. When Seb finally stops squirming and attempting to predict the next stroke, Chris switches to the rattan and runs it across his back, lightly, making him hiss.

“Color.”

“Green,” he murmurs into the comforter.

“Good.” Chris runs the cane up the inside of one leg and down the other, and Sebastian shudders. A willowy strike, short and sharp. 

“Ah!”

“Your skin’s so beautiful, Sebastian. Turns the most amazing colors.”

“Mmm, thank you sir. Shit!” Another strike, a sharp sting, but followed by gentle fingers. 

“You’re body is incredible. And it’s mine, isn’t it?”

Another strike sends him reeling, out of his mind and profoundly aware of his body. “S-sir, yes. All yours.” A kiss to his ankle.

“Strong and capable.” A quick series of smacks to his shoulders. “You’re magic.” Sebastian doesn’t dare disagree, so he stays quiet. “So gorgeous. Tell me.”

“Tell you...what?” Seb pants. “Ah!”

“That you’re beautiful.”

Tears prick his eyelids. “Chris, Sir…” He’s waiting for a punishing hit, or a tug on his hair, or a chastising order, but it doesn’t come. In fact, nothing does. The room falls silent.

His breath begins to come more roughly as he grinds his face into the blanket. He can’t do this. He can’t be an actor, he can't be Chris’s sub, he can’t be Chris’s _anything_ , he’s always alone, it’s too much.

The sob escapes, a hiccup of pain and he twists his wrist against the rope and immediately strong hands come down on top of them, holding him still. “Stop.” Just like that night at the club. But then, “Listen to me, Sebastian.” 

“Sir.” He’s listening.

He hears Chris crouch beside the bed, letting go of his hands in favor of cradling his face. “You trust me, yes?” 

“Of course, Chris,” he replies, eyes flying open.

“And you respect my judgement?” 

“More than anyone.” 

That makes Chris smile, sweet and strangely vulnerable. “Than believe me when I say this. You’re beautiful.” Seb bites his lip, hoping to keep in any unwanted noises. “You’re amazing.” He remembers Chris saying this all those months ago, before Quinlan, before they lost each other. He meant it even then. “You are wanted. _I_ want you. I -” For a moment Chris struggles, for words or breath and Sebastian goes to reach for him, forgetting his hands are tied. “Do you believe me?”

It’s the smallest of sounds, but it’s there. “Yes, Chris.”

“Perfect,” he sighs, standing abruptly. He sweeps his hands down Seb’s back and ass and legs, drawing every sensation to the surface. “You’re perfect, Sebastian. Color.”

“Green,” he croaks, and there’s another blow, but this one goes straight to Seb’s cock. “Fuck, yes.” He’s free and light, forgiven from today, and now he can feel again, his skin, his muscles, his arousal.

“Good boy. Can you take five more?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Of course you can, you can do anything, my incredible boy. You can come on one, alright Seb?”

“Thank you, Sir, so good to me…”

“And you to me, Seb. Now count.”

“Ah! Five! Fuck!” It stings beautifully. “Four.” He’s wriggling but the restraints don’t give him much space. “Three. God, Chris, please - Two!” He’s breathing so fast he’s whimpering, and on “One,” he lets go, relief sweeping through him. Forgiveness. Attention. Peace.

Something about this flavor of subspace has left him profoundly aware, and he hears wet and slick and short, sharp breaths and then a burst of air through clenched teeth as Chris comes all over his back and he arches into it. “Fuck,” Chris says breathlessly, and Sebastian smiles at Chris’s face as he undoes the bindings. He’s wrecked.

They both drain bottles of water, then Chris carefully applies ointment to the welts, cooling and soothing and Sebastian rests his head on his forearms sleepily. “Thank you for that.”

“Of course, Seb. It was a pleasure to watch.”

“Suck up.”

“Just bein’ honest.

They chuckle, and the quiet that falls in the room is broken only by the sound of Chris’s fingers tracing gingerly over Seb’s skin.

His cell rings from the nightstand, his ma’s ringtone, and she so rarely calls that he makes grabby hands at it despite the inappropriate context until Chris sighs and fetches it for him. “Alo mamă. Ce mai faci?”

They talk briefly. She’s calling to remind him his father’s birthday is next week, but he knows he sounds tired and of course she hears it too, letting him go with a gentle reminder to take care of himself, that she loves him, and then they’re exchanging quick goodbyes and Sebastian lets the phone fall to the bed, sighing. 

“Chris?” 

Wincing, Seb wanders out to find him in the kitchen with a tumbler of something golden, whiskey if Seb had to guess. “Hm?” he mutters from his hunch at the table.

“What’re you doing?”

“Giving you space.”

“Thanks? It was just my ma.”

“Nice of you to take her call.” There’s something in his tone - ice or stone and Sebastian feels suddenly smaller because of it.

“Well...yeah...she’s my ma.”

Chris chuckles tiredly and drains the glass. “Glad someone makes the cut.”

“What?”

“Go to bed, Sebastian,” he orders in a voice Seb can’t ignore, and it’s awful, because when he lies down surrounded by the smell of Chris, feeling the stretch and the ache of muscles and skin, he should feel claimed, but he can’t shake the feeling that the man who set out to claim him doesn’t want him anymore.

\--

He survives. If anyone asks. He survives. 

They’ve shot Bucky going on mission after mission, increasingly dangerous, increasingly careless. Steve follows but never engages and eventually Buck gets wise, starts covering his tracks, and Steve freaks out at the radio silence. He uses his resources as a government employee to find Buck, which is where they are now, at the end of the day, in a seedy hotel room, with Sebastian loading a fake gun with real aggression, when the knock comes at the door. 

He unlocks the safety and opens the door without checking the peephole, weapon out. He doesn’t care if the person on the other side gets to him first.

“Steve?” He drops the gun to his hip.

“What the hell are you thinking?” Chris shouts, kicking the door closed. Seb watches, nonplussed. “This is a fucking suicide mission.” 

“You shouldn’t know anything about this mission.”

“Well, tough titties. I know all about it, and again, I gotta say, what the hell, Barnes?” he repeats. 

He shrugs. “Someone’s gotta do it. Might as well be me.”

“Why?” Chris demands.

“Carter’s got a husband, Wilson’s got kids. Maximoff’s gotta finish school, and that brother of hers isn’t so bad.”

“And…”

“And I don’t have a brother. I’m done with school. Ain’t got kids,” he pauses. “Or a husband, while we’re at it,” he tells the floor. 

Chris chokes on nothing and cracks his knuckles, his Steve Rogers shoulders strung tight.

“It’s fine, man. How’ve you been?” A cheap shot at small talk. A shitty, obvious diversion.

“Awful.”

“Yeah?” 

“Been followin’ this idiot guy.”

Seb freezes. “Oh?”

“He keeps takin’ these stupid, risky missions…”

“Sounds like an asshat. How come you keep followin’ him?” Hurt cloaked in bitterness.

“Because I’m in love with him, and I’m afraid he’s gonna get his dumb ass killed.” The air stills on set. Seb tries to look up at Chris, but he can’t make his head move, heavy with wanting, omnipresent and unmovable, so he sinks further down inside himself to let Bucky do the work for him. 

“What?” says Chris. 

Harsh silence. Then, “You left!”

“You’re not the only idiot here.” It’s a shit excuse.

“No. No, you - you go to hell. You can’t just -” Seb’s voice catches. Bucky picks it up. “I thought you didn’t -” Bucky’s throat closes up too. Good thing Chris has the next line.

“I got scared, man.”

“You’re a fucking assassin! What the hell could you possibly be scared of?”

“You...you’re...you’re so funny.”

“I’m lost,” Seb deadpans.

“You make me laugh! Do you have any idea how long it’s been since I’ve laughed?” Sebastian turns back to the bed where he starts cleaning another handgun. “And you tell great stories, and make me feel less alone. No one’s been through the shit I have, except you. You know I’ve killed people, you know I’ve been wrong and you didn’t care. I can’t stop thinking about you.”

“Totally makes sense why you ditched me then,” he says, laying down every ounce of anguish for everyone to see. Chris’s right. It’s cathartic.

“I could’ve killed you!” It’s loud enough that Seb startles towards him. “I wanna know what you look like naked, but all I can think of is the first time I laid eyes on you your face was framed by crosshairs!” 

“So what do you want then?” he demands, grateful that the line allows him anger but hating that the blocking has them inches apart.

Chris looks up from under those impossibly long lashes and smiles - hope and fear layered in impossible complexity as he offers, “A drink?”

The moment stands thick as steel, ice and honey and smoke and blood and Sebastian quavers, a shiver of pain that hopefully no one else notices.

“Cut! Lovely! You guys are breakin’ my heart! That’s it for today!”

Chris gets dragged aside for a costume adjustment.

Mackie shows up at Seb’s elbow before he can do anything too stupid. “Hey. Let’s get a beer.”

\--

“I should move out.”

Mackie’s watching him carefully, temperate, giving nothing away. Sebastian thinks it’s a bit unnecessary. “If that’s what you think you need to do.”

“Of course! I - goddamn it Mack this hurts so fucking bad. I can’t just keep...” 

“I know, dumbass. I know.” He rubs Seb’s back a few passes then takes a drag of his beer. “Before that, though, you might just want to, oh, I dunno, TALK TO HIM?”

“I told you, he -”

“No. No more of that, bullshit, Seb. No more excuses. You’re scared. Say that or nothin’, ‘cause I’m done listening to you act like this is about anything else.” Brutal. 

“I’m terrified,” he says, gripping the counter. 

“You’re also one of the bravest dudes I know.”

Seb lets the moment crack, chuckling tiredly. “Yeah, yeah.” His phone goes off, and for one glorious moment he thinks maybe it’s Chris asking where he is, or apologizing - It’s none of those things (of course), but instead, an email from the production assistant from the photoshoot they did. 

The subject reads: ‘FYEO’ He opens the attachment.

Two photos, side by side, black and white. In the first he and Chris are wearing their tuxedos, looking like embodiment of sex, but they’re laughing, it’s an outtake surely, they aren’t even posing. Chris has one hand on his chest and one gripping Sebastian’s arm and Seb’s head is thrown back, mouth open. It’s undignified. Pure.

The second is an outtake, too. They’re not even in wardrobe, just street clothes, doing lighting checks, Seb standing and Chris perched next to him on the stool. Someone off camera has made Sebastian grin and he’s got one hand out, gesturing. And Chris…

Chris is gazing up at him so fondly there might as well be actual stars in his eyes. He’s smiling, too, but not for anyone else, just kind of lost and looking like he likes it that way. Dejected and hopeful.

Pain and joy. 

Love.

Sebastian falls off the barstool in his hurry to grab his bag from the floor. “I gotta go.”

“Hey! What happened? Where ya goin’?” Mackie’s grinning like he already knows.

“I gotta go quit being such a fuckin’ pussy.”

\--

He crashes through the front door.

“Chris?” He’s not in the kitchen or living room. “Hey, Chris, I gotta -” He jumps around as he hears Chris coming from the bedroom, then freezes at the rage in Chris’s eyes.

“Hey man, what’s -”

“I’ve fucking had it.”

“What? Had...what?”

“It’s one thing to ignore me before. I mean, we were just friends. Realistically, I can’t expect anything more. It broke my fucking heart, you know, but I get it. But then when we started sleeping together, and you’re _still_ fuckin’ blow me off, and then NOW? I was worried sick, didn’t know where you were, and - and - Like, we’ve all but said ‘I love you’ and you don’t even care enough to return my goddamn texts?!”

“What in the actual fuck are you talking about?” Sebastian roars. “I must’ve called you a hundred times over the past year! I texted you every holiday! I sent you pictures of my goofy-ass niece ‘cause I thought it’d make you smile! Don’t you even fucking -”

“Seven seven three, five five five, two four oh eight.”

“What is that?”

“Your number?” His voice is only slightly softer but very confused.

“No? No! No, what the fuck, where did you get that?”

“I lost my phone, last day of filming, got a new one but you don’t have a facebook or anything, and then I ran into Quinlan and he gave me your new - Sebastian?”

Seb had wheeled around and is now puking into the sink, just beer, thankfully. It takes two good heaves and a terrible dry gag to empty him out and he rinses his mouth, then his face, splashing it again and again, enjoying the cool of the water and the way it masks the tears, at least up until a brittle sob escapes.

“Sebastian?” Chris’s hand is soft and tentative on his spine.

Quin had known about his crush on Chris. “He gave you the wrong number,” Seb says to the sink.

“Why?”

There isn’t really a delicate way to put it. “He tried to assault me and I kicked him in the nuts.”

“He what?”

Seb figures it’s rhetorical and just continues watching the water run over his fingers but the air goes cool and still behind him so quickly he feels the change in barometric pressure as a crack-thud reverberates in the room. Seb whips around, slamming the sink off in time to see Chris extricating his fist from the kitchen wall, breath heaving in and out.

“Chris -” In quick strides Seb crosses to him, taking Chris’s fist in his own hands and inspecting for broken bones. “Hey. Easy.” Seb looks up into his face and finally allows the truth to wash over him. “You loved me. You did before. This whole time.” Chris nods fervently. “But you never said anything.” Hurt only gets to dance across Chris’s face for a single heartbeat before Seb realizes. Feels like an idiot for not putting it together before. “Oh. Nevermind. You said everything.”

Every vulnerability, every story, every orgasm, every laugh, was Chris giving himself to Sebastian. “I thought maybe, for a minute there, you loved me too.”

“Ah,” Seb laughs. “Right. Well. Mostly right. I think it was like, day three of the first project, when you brought me coffee? Hey. Whoa. Chris?” All composure is long gone and tears are streaming down Chris’s face. “I’m sorry for being a stubborn asshole. I should’ve - ”

“Don’t apologize! I’m the one who fucked up -”

“No. We both did. Or - hey - neither of us did.” Chris still looks so lost, so desperate, and that won’t do, not now that they know. “Chris. We’re ok, _I’m_ ok. You saved me.”

“What?” Chris gulps.

“When Quin...pulled that shit. You saved me.”

“Seb, I wasn’t there, I couldn’t -” 

“Shut up, Evans.” Chris closes his mouth so abruptly his teeth clack. “He tried to say I owed him, that no one’d ever have looked at me twice if it weren’t for him, and you know what? For a second, I almost accepted it. But I thought about you, what you’d said, that I’m amazing and remarkable and you’re glad to be my friend and it helped. It made me stand up for myself. I kicked him in the balls, fired his ass in a heartbeat, and got a restraining order, too. Because of you, idiot. You. Ok?”

Chris grabs him by the back of the neck and pulls him in. “I’ve loved you for so long.”

Seb grins, wondering why his face feels wet. “Back at ya.”

“Could I have you tonight?”

Seb snorts. “You don’t have to ask permission, man,” but Chris just shakes his head. 

“Not as your Dom, Seb. As your boyfriend. Just Chris. If that’s ok.” The vulnerability is breathtaking.

“I’d love that,” escapes from Sebastian’s mouth without permission. 

Turns out Just Chris is just as good at blowjobs. Just Chris also leads every movement with his mouth, and makes quite a bit of noise, and has a problem with wearing clothing for even a single second, and likes beer in bed. 

Sebastian is immediately, utterly smitten. 

\--

“Sexy Seabass!” Mackie is literally sprinting across set, and skids to a halt inches from Seb and Chris. “Congrats! And before you’re all ‘about what?’, you damn well know what, those fucking smiles are blinding.”

“Ah,” Seb murmurs, embarrassed. “Thank you.”

“It’s about damn time, Evans,” Mackie adds.

“I know, I know,” Chris mumbles, arm around Seb’s shoulders. “I’m a fucking meatball. It’s been discussed.”

“Oh!” Hayley calls across the set. “Are you guys finally fucking?”

“Been fucking, Hay,” Chris hollers amibly. 

“Ok fine, are you finally fucking with “Feelings”?”

“Really? Air quotes?” Chris mutters quietly then louder, “Yeah! We are. What about it?”

“Nothing,” she says, joining them. “Just happy you got your head out of your ass.”

The stylist, Zariya, is walking past and looks up from her clipboard long enough to say, “Oh thank Christ. I thought you dumbasses would never get it together,” and then she’s gone. 

“Was literally everyone else on the planet aware of this before we were?” Seb asks.

“Yes!” the key grip shouts from beneath one of the cameras. 

“You’re fucking?” the props head roars.

“Yaaaaaay!” the set designer shrieks, and before Chris and Seb can defend themselves, applause rolls out, and they really have no choice. As Mackie just repeats the word ‘boyfriends’ triumphantly, Chris lays one on Seb, borderline inappropriate for public, and then they take a bow.

\--

Red carpet events are exhausting, but Seb’s getting used to them with the wild success of the film. It’s still kind of hard to believe. He glances down the to where Chris is charming the pants off everyone within earshot and it makes Seb grin so wide it’s possible he looks crazy. 

What a difference a year makes. They’re on tour now, getting the press and the fans worked up and, honestly, it’s not that hard. He and Chris just interact how they always have and people lose their minds - think they’re cute or some shit. 

The desire to run sprints up and down the carpet isn’t receding as quickly as he’d hoped, but Mackie’s sitting at their table, and that’ll be fun. Seb and Chris are up for best chemistry, which is amazing and hysterical and they have yet to hear the end of it, even from their families. Their mom’s have become friends, which is a wonderful and terrifying union, and those two are the worst about it.

“Your boyfriend looks hot as hell,” Hayley murmurs to him while smiling at the camera. “You got plans for that ass tonight?”

 

“You have no idea,” Seb replies, turning to her just in time to catch her giving possibly the most roguish wink in the history of facial expressions.

“You’d be surprised,” she purrs, and continues on, leaving Seb laughing incredulously.

“You look beautiful like that,” Chris says from behind him. 

“What? Hysterical?”

Chris shrugs, unabashed, and offers his arm. “Yeah. Shall we?” 

They continue on, stopping for a few interviews, most of which Mackie bombs in one way or another, and by the time they make it inside Seb wants a beer and a burger and highly doubts awards shows provide either of those things, but Chris is warm at his side and he’s so damn happy to be here among all this talent that nothing’s gonna get him down. Nothing.

“Don’t you look lovely together,” a nasal voice drawls from over his shoulder. Chris stepped away to get drinks, so Sebastian's alone. 

There are a million responses to give, and his heart is racing with the predominant one, fear, but he’s different now than he was before. Stronger. And there’s a bracelet on his wrist claiming him as loveable even when he’s at his worst, and a man who looks at him like he hung the moon bringing him champagne and he whirls around, snarling. “You stay the fuck away from me or I’ll have you arrested. That restraining order stands. Get the fuck out of my face.”

Quin looks like he might say something back, but a slow clap interrupts them, Mackie looking impressed and also murderous. It’s unnerving, even to Sebastian, but not as much as the terrifying calm with which he says, “You heard him, buddy. Get moving.” He seems to realize his life is in danger, maybe because Chris is coming back, they all see him weaving with increasing swiftness across the floor, and Quinlan takes off like a shot.

“Was that -”

“Dealt with it, Sir. Chris,” Seb murmurs softly, placing a pacifying hand on Chris’s arm before taking the drink. “Really.”

Chris tears his furious gaze away from Quinlan and channels a sweeter one Seb’s direction. “You sure?”

“A million percent. Now sit down and get a little drunk with me.”

\--

Celebratory sex starts in the limo, much to the chauffeurs dismay. Sebastian promptly crawls into Chris’s lap and messes his hair up.

“Been wanting to do that all night.”

Chris laughs, golden light, and says, “Really? That’s what you were focused on?”

“Among other things.”

“Such as…?” he prompts.

“Such as how badly I want to ride you.”

“Christ.” Chris’s fingers sink into his hips, commanding.

“How good it’s gonna feel to come on your cock.” He shifts and feels Chris hardening beneath him. He’s already there.

“Baby,” Chris breathes.

“But mostly, I was thinkin’ about how I’ve been wearing a butt plug since lunch so I’d be ready whenever, and damn Chris, I gotta tell ya, I’ve _been_ ready -” He’s cut off by Chris attacking his face, but that was the plan so he’s not upset.

What’s a little more difficult is the way Chris pins him down to the seat to kiss him more deeply, then reaches down his pants and presses a finger to the base of the plug, rocking it against Seb’s prostate. He shouts. 

Clapping a hand over Seb’s mouth Chris says, “You gotta be quiet, baby. Can you do that? Can you be quiet for me?”

“Y-yes.”

“Good,” Chris breathes into his neck. “So good.” Bites his clavicle. “So beautiful tonight, and brave.” He rolls a knuckle along Seb’s perineum, making him whine, but that’s nothing compared to the sheer fucking mindblowing grandeur of Chris Evan’s mouth sliding over his cock. He slams his head back into the seat and crushes his eyes closed. He’ll come in a heartbeat if he watches that, which seems to be Chris’s intention, because without pulling off he sticks two fingers into Seb’s mouth and pulls, tilting his head down and Seb groans.

“Chris…”

“Come before we get to the hotel,” is all he says, and it seems a bit unfair that a man who can sing and speak with such poise can also do such absolutely pornographic things with his mouth as well. The drive back is short, too, which he obviously knows because he pulls out the big guns right away, bobbing against Seb’s stomach and brushing with casual purpose against the plug until Seb comes with a cry muffled by fingers. 

Grinning, Chris zips him up then tucks his own hard-on into the waistband of his boxers just as the limo slows to a stop. Calmly, he plucks his wallet from his pocket, tips the driver, and helps Seb from the car with the same hand he’d just had shoved in Seb’s mouth. 

“Holy fuck,” Sebastian breathes.

“Hmmm?”

“You’re...damn, Evans.”

“Impressed, huh?” He looks positively overjoyed, clearly very proud of himself.

“I am. As you’re about to be.”

“I’m sure of it,” Chris murmurs, lower this time. They make it to the hotel room without getting arrested for public indecency, which Seb counts as a victory.

“Congrats on your win, Mr. Stan.”

“And you, Mr. Evans,” Seb offers, pulling out a few bottles of vodka from the minibar. “Celebratory awful shots?”

“Of course.”

They down two each, giggling and shoving each other, until Seb pushes Chris a bit more deliberately and he plops onto the bed. 

“Stay,” Seb commands, stepping back.

“First of all, I’m the Dom. Second of all - not a dog.”

“You move, I stop,” Seb warns, and begins to loosen his tie. 

Chris inhales deeply and lets it out. Control.

The silk drops to the floor with a soft noise, and Seb unbuttons his suit coat next, letting it slide down his arms. His shirt is fastened with a row of buttons, but there’s nothing underneath so he takes his time, fingertips brushing the skin of his chest and stomach, deliberate and salacious.

“Sebastian…” Chris growls warningly, but Seb just continues, eyes dancing across Chris’s already cherry mouth and tented trousers.

He gets to the final button on the front, but takes his time with the cufflinks, dropping them one at a time onto the desk, then finally letting his shirt slip off his frame. Panther-quiet, he paces to stand between Chris’s legs and raises one eyebrow. “Well?’’

“Well what?” Chris rasps, and with an almost inappropriate amount of sass, Sebastian says, “Impressed yet?”, and Chris loses it. He’s got them both up and pants off, and Sebastian bent over the bed in less than a minute, easing the plug out of his body, and sliding in to replace it. 

“Holy Jesus fuck,” Seb gasps and Chris chuckles. “Fuck me, oh god, please -”

“You’re awfully demanding for such a cocky little shit. I think I’ll give you what I want to give you.”

“Chris -”

“Nope. Quiet. You’re mine. I get to decide what to do with you.”

“Yours,” Sebastian breathes, and the tension slides out of him, leaving him boneless. Chris curls over him, linking their hands, and fucks him almost too slow to bear, keeping Sebastian on the edge of orgasm for so long that they both start to fall apart, and Chris finally hikes him up onto the bed and slides home, fucking him roughly, and Chris comes first. He wraps his fingers around Seb’s neck like a collar as he does, and the pressure tips Seb over again, so white hot that his muscles ache from clenching.

Chris cleans them up sleepily, and Sebastian fucks with him the whole time, wriggling away and smacking him with pillows. He ends up pinned beneath Chris’s weight and tickled, which serves him right, but he pleads out relatively quickly. They finally slump into the fluffy hotel pillows and Seb kisses Chris, temple, pec, eyebrow, jaw, hip bone, nose, and then mouth. Eventually. 

“What’s that about?”

Seb shrugs. “‘Cause I love you. ‘Cause I can.”

“You can. Hell yes. I’m proud of you, by the way.”

“Dude, we both won the award.”

“No, I mean with that asshole. You’re fucking amazing, you know that Sebastian.”

He grins and accepts the kiss, sweet and slow from his sleepy boyfriend, the curls up in his arms, thinking. He’d only said one more thing to Quinlan, as he and Chris walked up to the stage hand in hand to thunderous applause. He’d stopped. Leaned in real close, and echoed back one of the very last things Quin ever got to say to him. He’d sneered it then, but in the stillness and warmth and absolute safety of the man who’s his home now, he thinks about the truth of it. 

“Some people get lucky.”

They are.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Jonathan Safran Foer:
> 
> “I like to see people reunited, I like to see people run to each other, I like the kissing and the crying, I like the impatience, the stories that the mouth can't tell fast enough, the ears that aren't big enough, the eyes that can't take in all of the change, I like the hugging, the bringing together, the end of missing someone.” 
> 
> Visit me at seasless.tumblr.com <3


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